Heir to the Stormcrown
by Gufetto
Summary: "Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath, we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and the name of Atmora of Old."
1. Chapter 1

Heir to the Stormcrown

Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I hold no claim to the Elder Scrolls series. Also, much lore from the series was learned from the Elder Scrolls Wiki.**

AN: I've had this idea in my head for a while and decided to share it. The story begins with the events of "Season Unending," but things take a fairly different turn. I'm not the best writer in the world, but hopefully the story will be enjoyable.

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><p>The world shook as he tumbled away from the Time Wound, the Elder Scroll flying into the deep snow at the sacred Throat of the World. He felt the power of the ancient Nord heroes' thu'um surging through him. He finally heard the Words of Power that would force Alduin the World-Eater to experience the confines of the earth, mortality.<p>

Black wings obscured his vision as he rose from his knees, and a voice of terror and blood spoke from above, "Bahloki nahkip sillesejor. My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin."

The young man backed away slowly in surprise, grabbing for the sword at his hip.

"Die now and await your fate in Sovengarde!" The World-Eater bellowed as he flew into the sky.

Paarthurnax looked upwards from his perch at his former lord and brother. "Lost funt. You are too late, Alduin!" The elder dragon turned to his youngest and only mortal brother and commanded, "Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!"

As his friend and mentor took to the volatile winds to battle Alduin, Dovahkiin inhaled deeply, preparing to use the terrible shout of the ancient tongue. He braced himself to the darkness and bitterness that came with the words of power created by mortals who had been oppressed and slaughtered under the tyranny of the Dragon Cult. His chest swelled with air, and he felt energy building within.

The two immortal dov swept through the currents of wind above the tallest peak in all of Tamriel, shouting words of force and flame in the others' direction. Dovahkiin rolled to the left as a column of fire barreled down upon him. Now was his chance. Alduin glided past his head, and Dovahkiin unleashed the terrible words created by Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, Hakon One-Eye, and Felldir the Old. "Joor Zah Frul!"

An ominous blue wave encapsulated Alduin's wings as the shout escaped the Dragonborn's lips, and the proclaimed first son of Akatosh was forcibly hurled onto the gol, the earth. Alduin roared at the arrogant Dovahkiin's offense. "You may have picked up the weapons of my ancient foes, but you are not their equal! Yol Toor Shul!"

Dovahkiin cast a quick ward spell against the powerful flames, unable to fully dodge the attack. Paarthurnax flew past. "This is your chance, Dovahkiin! Strike with all your force!"

Force. Dovahkiin nodded slowly, letting the words fill his being. As Alduin's flames began to subside, the mortal dropped his ward and shouted, "Fus Ro Dah!"

The strength of the shout sent even the World-Eater staggering, giving Dovahkiin the time to charge his destined foe. The Dragonborn swung down his Blades sword Dragonbane with all his might, managing to cut deeply into Alduin's neck. Frost from his left hand seared against the dragon's black scales. Shouts of flame rolled from Alduin's mouth, making Dovahkiin pull backward. The great dragon's tail hurtled into the mortal's chest and sent him flying into snow and stone.

The World Eater laughed coldly at the foolish man who was destined to be the savior of Tamriel from his wrath. "Sahlo Dovahkiin. Mulaagi zok lot! My strength is the most great!"

Alduin took to wing once more, his jaws snapping at his former lieutenant. Flame and rock rained down on the dazed mortal. Dovahkiin struggled to his feet, rage and frustration boiling his dovah blood. He looked towards the battling dov in the sky. He braced himself again and repeated the Words of Power. "Joor Zah Frul!"

The blue wave hit the World Eater with an unnatural force, knocking the dragon back down. With a shout of fury, Dovahkiin slashed his blade down upon Alduin's spiked head repeatedly. He dodged a fierce snap of jaws and swung downwards, splitting the flesh that had already been cut. As Paarthurnax shouted a volley of flame at the dovah, Alduin retreated from his enemies. He finally understood Dovahkiin's might. "Meyz mul, Dovahkiin. You have become strong. But I am Al-du-in, Firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you... mortal!"

Alduin backed away from the young man, who had bested him in strength and su'um- spirit, and threw himself into the sky, away from the mortal's reach.

Dovahkiin stood dazed in the frozen wind and snow, watching the retreating black wings of Alduin fade into the horizon. His body was numbed by adrenalin. His brother and elder dovah sailed onto his usual perch on the silent word wall, his teeth spread in what could be considered a smile. "Lot krongrah. You truly have the voice of a dovah. Alduin's allies will think twice after this victory."

The mortal man with a dovah's soul nodded his head. His throat was sore and his body began to ache. "Alduin escaped," his human voice was quiet and hoarse.

"Ni liivrahhin moro," the wise dragon replied, "True, this is not the final krongrah- victory. But not even the heroes of old were able to defeat Alduin in open battle. Alduin always was pahlok- arrogant in his power. Uznahgar paar. He took domination as his birthright. This should shake the loyalty of the dov who serve him."

Dovahkiin was unsure whether his slight victory could accomplish so much among the dov, who had so far only been interested in attacking him. "But where has Alduin gone?"

"Geh... one of his allies could tell us. Motmahus... But it will not be easy to... convince one of them to betray him. Perhaps the hofkahsejun- the palace of Whiterun... Dragonsreach. It was originally built to house a captive dovah. A fine place to trap one of Alduin's allies, aam?"

The man closed his eyes contemplating his options. He had heard in his first visit to Whiterun of the tale of King Olaf and the dragon. He had even seen its skull mounted above the throne of the Jarl of Whiterun. "I'm not so sure the Jarl would agree."

"Geh- yes. But your su'um is strong. I do not doubt that you can convince him of the need."

"I'll see what I can do, onik gein."

Paarthurnax chuckled at his mortal brother. "Su'um ahrk morah, Dovahkiin. Ahrk take the Kel- the Elder Scroll with you."

The Dragonborn bent down slowly, his body screaming in protest, and grabbed the mysterious artifact. He tucked it safely within his armor and began his weary descent to High Hrothgar, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion and pain. Alduin's thu'um had burned his exposed face beneath his Blades helmet and the dovah's teeth had at some point ripped into his right arm, his sword arm. It would have been worth it if he had actually won the battle, but he had not. He merely forced Alduin into retreat, only to give him enough time to regain his strength. "Krosis," Dovahkiin murmured softly in the Dragon Tongue. How it fit the whole ordeal.

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><p>The ceiling of Sky Haven Temple whistled as the wind danced through openings in the rocks. The hall was peaceful when the various members of the Blades had dispersed, leaving the stone to its silence. The moons cast a crimson and silver glow upon the ancient prophesy of the Akaviri, and the Dragonborn plopped down cross legged, blue eyes tracing the carvings that sang of the past, present, and future. The inscribed Dragonborn donned the traditional armor of the Akaviri and stood with shield in hand, repelling Alduin's mighty thu'um. Despite the similar armor, it looked nothing like him. He briefly wondered if that meant he was not the Dragonborn of the prophesy. Perhaps he was the false Dovahkiin. The one that could never truly defeat the first born of Akatosh. He fell gently onto his back, watching the clouds drift in and out of view, and contemplated what it would mean to be a normal man with a normal life, herding sheep in his father's village in the Wrothgarian Mountains of High Rock.<p>

"Ah, Dragonborn. You have returned."

He jumped slightly in surprise. He had not even heard footsteps. He tilted his head backwards to see who had spoken. It was Delphine. Of course.

The middle aged Breton woman knelt gracefully beside the Dragonborn. "I am glad to see you are safe and well. Did you find a way to learn the Dragonrend Shout?"

Dovahkiin nodded in reply. "I did. I used Dragonrend on Alduin, but he escaped."

The veteran Blade's hazel eyes flashed. "What do you mean 'he escaped'?" Her voice had lowered dangerously.

The Dragonborn sighed and looked away from the older woman. "What I mean is that he got away before I could defeat him."

"He got away?" She sounded equally skeptical and furious. "He got away. Where'd he go?"

"It is said that Alduin travels to Sovengarde to feed on the souls of its heroes."

"Why do you sound so calm? We have to find and destroy him!"

"_I_ am going to find him," the Dragonborn reassured his friend and fellow Blade. "I'm going tomorrow to request the Jarl of Whiterun to let me trap one of Alduin's allies in Numinex's cage."

The Breton woman shook her head. "Wait, let me get this straight. You're going to trap _a dragon_ in Dragonsreach?"

"That's what it was built for."

"You're going to need at least all of us to help you trap any dragon in that place."

Blue eyes fiercely met hazel. "No," he replied. "They are my kin, and I will take care of them."

The Dragonborn's silent message did not escape her notice. His eyes whispered what his tongue could not, _I do not trust you. _

"You do realize that it is our duty as well as yours to slay the dragons that plague Nirn?"

"Yes, I do realize that, but I'm not looking to slay a dragon. I need information, not more dragon souls."

Delphine looked away from the man she had sworn to serve before he was even born, and briefly she wondered if he truly was the greatest dragonslayer in existence. She shook her doubts away quickly. "Very well. You look exhausted, Myrddin. Why don't you get some sleep? Esbern has something he wishes to speak with you about in the morning."

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><p>Myrddin awoke to laughter ringing throughout the Temple's stone walls. He groaned and wished he could simply put a pillow over his slightly burnt face. Despite having personally picked most of the new members, he really hated them at that moment. When he realized that sleep would never return while they were awake, the charred and bruised Dragonborn slipped lightly out of his bed and pulled on his armor.<p>

The morning sun assaulted his tired eyes as he entered the main hall, and he silently cursed the god Magnus for puncturing the night sky and creating the sun. "Hail, Dragonborn," someone exclaimed upon noticing him. "Come, sit, eat with us!"

Myrddin silently joined the Blades at the table, taking a seat across Esbern and by his former housecarl Lydia. The black haired woman smiled at him and passed down a flagon of ale. "Greetings, my thane. You look like you had quite a battle. Wish I had been there."

"It was not as glorious as you would think, Lydia," he replied before gulping down the smooth drink.

"Yes," Esbern cut in. "Delphine was just informing us that Alduin has escaped your wrath to return to Sovengarde and feed on the souls of the dead. Is this indeed true?"

The Dragonborn nodded gravely. "It is."

"Then he must be hunted down at once!" Another Blade initiate Mjoll exclaimed.

A khajiit's smooth laughter filled the room. "The Twin moons are still full. The answers will come yet."

Myrddin looked to Lydia, who seemed just as amused and confounded as he was. "What does that even mean, Kharjo," the Nord woman asked.

"Khajiit tells only the truth, nothing more," the former caravan guard responded.

"I agree with Mjoll," Esbern's new apprentice of lore Aerin spoke up.

"Of course you do," Faendal, Myrddin's first companion in Skyrim, jeered. "You always agree with the Lioness."

"Why you-"

"Enough!" Delphine finally ordered, her face twisted in aggravation.

Everyone at the table silenced instantly, all fearful of the Breton woman's rage. Myrddin chuckled softly and bit into a piece of bread. "I never got to finish," Delphine continued. "He has come up with a plan to locate Alduin. Why don't you tell them, Dragonborn?"

Esbern leaned forward, his old eyes sparking with curiosity. "Yes, Dragonborn, tell us what you have devised."

Myrddin's blue eyes studied his companions silently as he swallowed his food. They all looked so intrigued by the Dragonborn's plot, all except Delphine, who knew the truth. "Well," he began cautiously with his characteristically hushed tone. "I am going to try and capture one of Alduin's allies in Dragonsreach to gain information on where Alduin might be."

"Wait," Kharjo spoke, his ears flattened. "What is this 'Dragonsreach'? Khajiit knows no such word."

Lydia looked clearly irritated by her thane's proposition. "It's the palace of Whiterun," she ground out. "I used to be a guard there."

"Great," Mjoll smiled. "When do we leave?"

They all looked toward the Dragonborn, who they revered as the greatest dragonslayer. Myrddin looked away from his glaring housecarl towards the Blades' archivist. Esbern nodded his head and folded his hands on the stone table. "Yes, of course," he laughed. "The old story of King Olaf's pet dragon. Ingenious."

Myrddin grinned at the approval of the man he considered his adviser. "Paarthurnax helped me come up with it."

"Ah..." Esbern responded solemnly. "Paarthurnax is a matter I meant to discuss with you this day, Dragonborn."

Myrddin felt an icy foreboding in the pit of his stomach. He had always intended to keep the Greybeards and Blades as separate as possible. He eyed the old Blade guardedly. "What of Paarthurnax?"

"I uncovered ancient Blades accounts that speak of one of Alduin's lead lieutenants named Paarthurnax, who was the author of countless atrocities against our kind." Esbern informed the Dragonborn. "The Blades hunted him for centuries, but he disappeared. The Greybeards and later the Emperors protected him. Yet now, we are aware of his location, and justice can finally be fulfilled."

The mortal the Greybeards declared Dovahkiin sat back in his seat, his dark blue eyes wide. He shook his head repeatedly, unable to grasp words. He breathed deeply and finally cleared his head enough to speak. "No," his voice cracked with emotion. "No. You do not understand. All dov were under the lordship of Alduin because there was no other way at the time. That is until Paarthurnax rebelled and aided the joorre, our ancestors."

Delphine narrowed her sharp eyes and glared at the man who was supposed to be _the _dragonslayer, not a dragon sympathizer. "His betrayal makes it even worse! What will keep him from ever deciding to go back to Alduin's side? Besides, he _murdered _and enslaved innumerable amounts of men, our ancestors! It's justice. It is our duty as Blades to slay all dragons who pose a threat to our land, our lives."

A chair clashed to the floor as Myrddin stood abruptly. "You would erase all dragons from Nirn if you could!"

Delphine rose to her feet in an answer to the Dragonborn's challenge. "Of course I would! That is our sworn duty to protect Skyrim and all of Tamriel from those monsters!"

"Then you will have to kill me as well!" Myrddin spat. "I am Dovah-Kiin, Dragonborn. I may have the body of a mortal, but my sil- my soul is the same as any of theirs!"

Esbern looked upwards at the man they thought to be their savior in astonishment. The Dragonborn had spoken naturally in the Dragon Tongue. "Delphine, Dragonborn, please sit-"

"Nid!" Dovahkiin's voice shook the stones around them. "If it is the obligation of the Blades to rid the world of all dragons, then I am no Blade."

He unsheathed his sword Dragonbane and tossed it onto the table. He hastily pulled at his Blades armor, pulling pieces off until he was left in nothing but the padded pants that had been underneath the metal. "If any of you attempt to go anywhere near Paarthurnax, I will tear you to shreds with the thu'um of a true dovah," he threatened before storming out of Sky Haven Temple.

His former followers and friends looked down in shame as he left. Their duty was now to Tamriel, to the Blades. Delphine sat down heavily. "That's not what I wanted to happen," she whispered quietly.

Esbern had turned away from the other Blades to stare at Alduin's Wall. "Do not fret, Delphine. He will be back. After all, he is the destined one."

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><p>Myrddin had always loved traveling to Whiterun. There was certain freedom that came with the great expanse of plains that rolled on into the mountains. He would often take his mount out into the Whiterun Hold simply to ride about in peace. It was how he flew without wings.<p>

Before entering the city's gates, he adjusted the ragged clothes he had hastily and cheaply bought from a wandering Khajiit merchant, and slung a burlap sack over his shoulder. He knew he would have to get new armor if he was going to convince the Jarl to allow him to call a dragon to Dragonsreach. Rags for clothes did not exactly inspire confidence. He made his way up the Plains District, occasionally greeting the people he had usually assisted in some manner.

As he entered the Wind District, Dovahkiin paused to admire the fresh blooms upon the Gildergreen Tree before ascending the stone steps that led to the mysterious Skyforge. The heavy knell of metal colliding against metal echoed across the city, a constant reminder that the town had the greatest forge and the greatest smith in all of Skyrim.

Eorlund Gray-Mane did not look up as the Dragonborn approached. Instead, he grabbed a piece of molten steel from the burning coals of the forge and began to mold the malleable metal into the way he wished it to be. "What can I do for the Thane of Whiterun?" He asked sternly. It was not his nature or manner to play at politics.

Myrddin scratched his head, amused by the blacksmith's demeanor. "I was wondering if you could make me a set of new armor."

Eorlund paused and looked up at the Dragonborn. "I typically only forge full sets for the Companions. And you're no Companion."

"No," Myrddin replied quietly. "I am not a Companion, but I am in need of armor."

The blacksmith snorted. "What? No proclamations of your title? No demands based on privilege?"

"I wasn't planning on it..."

"Alright, I'll make your armor, but I must finish a set for the Companion's new harbinger first."

Dovahkiin sighed in frustration and unease. He only had two days at the most to prepare for his proposal to Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. "I really need it very soon..."

"Hm," Eorlund hummed while continuing his forging. "If you can convince the harbinger to agree to a postponement of his armor, I will begin working on yours right away."

"I'll go see if that's possible," Myrddin replied. He looked down at the large burlap bag he carried in his hands. "Do you mind if I leave this here?"

The master smith grunted in response, and Dovahkiin took that as an affirmative. He walked down from the Skyforge and headed towards Jorrvaskr, the legendary mead hall of the Companions.

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><p>Despite starting out on the wrong foot with the Companions by having a red-headed woman with the personality of a hagraven berating his archery skill, he had befriended many of the faction's members during his many nights at the Bannered Mare, drunk on ale and adventure. Myrddin enjoyed listening to their many tales of glory and blood, but his lack of belief in the Nordic tradition of honor through brutal combat made his interactions with the Companions often trying.<p>

Having grown up in the northern Wrothgarian Mountains of High Rock, he did not fully understand all the cultural peculiarities of the Nord people. His Nord mother had often attempted to teach him the ways of her peoples, but Myrddin had always preferred the peaceful quiet that came with the herdsmen society of his Breton father's tribe. He decided at a young age that he would leave the pursuit of gory honor to his Nordic relatives.

He pushed in the mead hall's doors and was greeted by a warm fire and the scent of roasted meat. "Well if it isn't the milkdrinker turned Thane," an all too familiar voice addressed. "What brings you to the hall of the Companions?"

"Aela," Myrddin replied mildly, suppressing the rage that shouted in his soul at such an offense. "I need to speak with the new harbinger. If you could lead me to him... or her?"

Aela the Huntress chuckled softly. After a few rounds of drinks at the Bannered Mare and one nasty brawl that ended in a gutter, the young man with untamed auburn hair and eyes that were like portals into Kyne's realm had grown on her slightly. "I see you're still as soft as ever, talking as quietly as a young maiden."

"I sound like a maiden? Is my voice really that high pitched?"

Aela rolled her pale eyes and motioned Myrddin to follow. "I said as quiet as a maiden, milkdrinker. Not that you were one."

"Ah, I'm glad you cleared that up then."

The Companion and Dragonborn descended into Jorvaskr's living quarters, and Aela eventually paused at the door at the very end of the hall. She knocked against the wooden door frame with what seemed to be enough force to knock a grown man off his feet. "Vilkas!" She called brusquely. "A milkdrinker's here to see you!"

Myrddin felt his stomach sink. Out of all the Companions, Vilkas was the man that irked the Dragonborn most, and the sentiments of the Companion were plainly mutual. He could hear muffled voices on the other side of the wood and then movement towards the door. The door swung quickly ajar, and a mountain of a man popped out of the frame. Myrddin couldn't help but smile at the man in steel armor, who was the water to Vilkas' fire. "Do we have a whelp trying to join the Companions," the deep, slow voice asked as he opened the door. "Ah, no. It's the Little Dragon! Good to see you," he greeted upon noticing the Dragonborn, pulling him into a strangling head lock.

"Good to see you too, Farkas," Myrddin choked out. "Could you let me go? I need to talk to your brother."

"Alright," Farkas conceded, releasing the young man. "Let's share a drink at the Mare later, huh?"

"Sure."

Farkas and Aela left for the mead hall, leaving Myrddin at the door, staring in at the Companion's new harbinger, who stared right back. "Too afraid to enter, milkdrinker," the Companion asked with a severity that annoyed the Dragonborn.

"No," he replied with as level a tone he could muster. "Just waiting for you to invite me in."

Vilkas grunted quietly. "Well then, enter."

Myrddin complied, deliberately sitting beside the harbinger at a table. He traced a finger across the table's wood, uncomfortable with the ensuing silence. "This used to be Kodlak's quarters, no?" He asked with courteous repose.

"It was."

"For what it counts, I am sorry for what happened. Kodlak was a great man. If I had been in town, I would have gladly helped you repel the Silver Hand."

"But it does not count," Vilkas replied, his voice seething with anger and grief. "You were not here, and Kodlak is dead."

Myrddin looked down at his finger tracing the lines in wood. Guilt poured into his heart. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Vilkas shook his head, his regret evident. "No, you should not have to apologize for events that are not your concern. You are not a Companion. Just know that Kodlak can now bask in the glory of Sovengarde."

The Dragonborn raised his eyebrows at the new harbinger's statement, wondering why a brave warrior like Kodlak would not have gone directly to Sovengarde. "That's good to hear... May he fight and drink with honor with the other heroes of old." He was not going to crush the Companion's fragile hope by telling him of Alduin's actions in the realm of the valiant dead.

Vilkas nodded in agreement, finding no words to add. "So, milkdrinker, why have you come to see me of all people today?"

"I need to talk to you about the armor you commissioned with Eorlund."

The harbinger folded his arms. "What of it?"

Myrddin scratched his head and looked at the other man sheepishly. "I have come to ask your permission to postpone the order so I can have my set forged more quickly."

Vilkas barked out a laugh. "Why would I postpone my armor for you, a milkdrinker?"

Blue eyes hardened as they studied the Companion. His pride had been ridiculed enough for one day, and his dovah blood would take no more. "Firstly," he growled, his tone subdued and dangerous, "I am no _milkdrinker._ And secondly, I must prepare for my fight against Alduin the World-Eater. Unless you wish Nirn to be destroyed, of course."

Vilkas felt as if he had been slapped. He had not expected such a reaction from the typically mild mannered Dragonborn. He eventually shook his head, a small smile gracing his lips. It was about time. "Of course not. Tell Eorlund to begin your armor at once."

Myrddin leaned back slightly, the harbinger's cooperation taking him by surprise. "I will. Thank you... Harbinger."

He stood swiftly and headed for the door. "Dragonborn!" The Companion called behind him. "Send the World-Eater to Oblivion and back for Kodlak... and the Companions!"

Vilkas saw the Dragonborn's curly head bob as he walked away.

Myrddin made his way back up to the Skyforge, finding Eorlund still toiling steadily on his creation. "Vilkas has agreed to allow you to forge my armor before his," he informed the blacksmith.

Eorlund halted his actions, set down his hammer, and wiped his calloused hands on his apron. "Very well. What sort of armor do you wish for me to forge?"

Dovahkiin strode to where he had placed his bag and pulled out a material that Eorlund had never beheld before. "Have you ever seen dragon scales before?" The mortal dovah asked the smith, offering a section of the hide.

Eorlund grasped the scales, his fingers running over the sleek, yet hardened skin. He realized with a tiny spark of excitement that there was no other material like it in all of Nirn. He looked up at the Dragonborn. "Dragonscale armor?"

Myrddin nodded solemnly. "Is such a thing possible?"

Eorlund Gray-Mane smiled for the first time Myrddin had seen. "It will be as light as leather and as strong as ebony."

Dovahkiin grinned back. "That's all I needed to hear."

The blacksmith took the burlap sack from his client and turned back to his forge. "Come back in two days. Your armor will be ready." It would be the armor of legends.

Myrddin nodded and left the Skyforge behind. Some things just worked out naturally, thank the gods.

* * *

><p>Dovahkiin held the newly crafted armor up. It was impressive. The scales fell into natural lines that protected the wearer's chest and abdomen, and stratified spikes protruded down the shoulders. The helm was adorned with horns that twisted upward in a motion very similar to that of a true dovah's head. The armor was a work of art, a true testament to the Skyforge's power and that of its smith.<p>

He looked up at the creator of such magnificence. "It's incredible. How much do I owe you for such masterful work?"

Eorlund Gray-Mane crossed his arms and shook his head. "No, no. You do not have to pay," he replied austerely. "This armor is the spirit of Kodlak Whitemane. Wear it with virtue, and your debt is paid."

Myrddin was honored by the blacksmith's words, but he did not enjoy the idea of a service going unpaid. "I have the septims to pay whatever price you need."

The smith of the Skyforge scowled. "I said no. Now get out of my sight before I throw you off the ledge. You don't have wings to break your fall, Dragonborn."

Dovahkiin backed away slowly. He was unsure whether the grey-haired man would actually do as he warned or not. "I will go then. Thank you for the armor, Eorlund Gray-Mane. It is beautiful."

As he descended the forge's steps hastily, he could hear the smith's grunt in reply. He paused at the bottom of the Skyforge, and checked to make sure no one was training in the Companions' courtyard. When the coast was clear, he pulled off his worn clothes and sword and slipped on the various pieces of armor. The cuirass fit comfortably snug against his chest. He unsheathed his sword and swung horizontally, twisting his body to test the armor's flexibility. It was light and supple, but its strength had yet to be tested in battle. Myrddin knew that that would change soon enough.

The Dragonborn ascended the stairs into the Cloud District and the ancient palace of King Olaf. Dragonsreach, the prison and grave of the dovah Numinex, who Paarthurnax had told him had been driven to such madness that he did not recognize his own name. Myrddin sighed and wondered at the atrocities that could be committed by man, mer, and dovah alike. The violence of one always seemed to stem to so many others.

He entered the palace and trod with determination to the steps before the Jarl's throne, the eyes of Whiterun's court following him across the hall. He knelt respectfully and bowed his head.

"Greetings, Dragonborn and Thane of my Hold," Jarl Balgruuf the Greater addressed Myrddin. "Rise and tell us the cause of your visit to court this day."

Dovahkiin removed his helm and rose to his feet. "My lord," he began. "I come to you with a matter of grave importance." He paused, unsure of how he should continue. "I must request your help in trapping a dragon in your palace, in Numinex's cage."

Jarl Balgruuf sat back in his seat and raised his hand to face, studying the Dragonborn. "I, ah, must have misheard you. I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace."

Myrddin stared straight into the older man's eyes. "You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Whiterun's leader shook his head. "You want me to let a dragon into the heart of my city, with the threat of war on my doorstep? Do you realize that this Hold is in constant threat from both the Imperials and the Stormcloaks? If we were to allow you to do as you plan, both factions would surely take advantage. No, Dragonborn, I regret that I must decline your request, no matter how noble... and insane. The risk is too great."

Dovahkiin looked down at his booted feet. He could feel frustration and fire rolling within himself. "Imperials and Stormcloaks will not matter if Alduin destroys the world."

The Jarl's eyes widened as if he were being strangled. " Alduin? The World-Eater himself? But... how can we fight him? Doesn't his return mean it's the end times?"

Myrddin balled his fists and glowered at the Jarl. "It's only hopeless if we give up."

"I didn't say anything about giving up, Dragonborn. Now, what's this nonsense about trapping a dragon in my palace?"

"It's the only way to find Alduin before he has become too powerful. As we speak he preys upon the noble souls of our ancestors in Sovengarde."

"I want to help you, Dragonborn, and I will. But I need your help first. Ulfric and General Tullius are both just waiting for me to make a wrong move. Do you think they will sit idle while a dragon is slaughtering my men and burning my city? No. I can't risk weakening the city while we are under the threat of enemy attack. I'm sorry."

"What if you didn't have to worry about an enemy attack anymore?"

"Then I would be glad to help you with your mad dragon-trapping scheme. But getting both sides to agree to a truce would be difficult. The bitterness has gone too deep. I fear that both sides will never truly agree to a ceasefire while the other yet lives." Balgruuf looked down at the Dragonborn with a new spark in his blue eyes. "Perhaps... There is only one way for my city to be safe from the fury of war and the deceit of false treaties. Skyrim must be underneath one banner once more. A High King must be declared."

Myrddin scratched his head. "Is that not what the whole war is about?"

"It is indeed. But there is only one manner in which the official High King is proclaimed. The Moot must be convened."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes:<strong> The Dragonborn's given name in this story is neither typically Nord or Breton. The Breton Foresworn of the Reach have distinctly Celtic names, so I figured it may be a regional cultural trait that may be seen on the other side of the mountains in High Rock as well. That's my theory at least... Oh, and it's also another Arthurian Easter Egg, like the the Lady Stone in the middle of a lake.

That's the first chapter. I hope it was worth reading. I am posting the second chapter with this one because they kind of go together, but I do not want to overwhelm readers with chapters that are too lengthy.

Please review and tell me what you think so far. And feel free to ask questions. I have a code of replying to every review I receive.

**Dragon Word of the Day: su'um**- the literal translation means "breath," but dialogue implies that it means "spirit" as well. This would make sense considering Latin's word for "breath" and "spirit" is the same, animus.

Thank you for reading!

Gufetto


	2. Chapter 2

Heir to the Stormcrown

Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>The weather was pleasantly calm at High Hrothgar that morning. The air was clear, allowing the whole of Skyrim to stretch out beyond the mountain's peaks, rolling and climbing into the distance. A slight breeze led falling snowflakes in a gentle dance as they swept ever nearer to the earth. The Dragonborn held vigil stoically at the base of the Greybeard's fortress, adorned in the natural armor of his brother dovah. He wondered with a brief smile whether he would be an imposing sight to the Jarls of Skyrim, who had yet to arrive for the Moot.<p>

As the patter of clopping hooves against stone pricked his ears, Myrddin strained to see down the path to discover who was the first to answer to the summons of the Moot. He nearly groaned when he picked out the silhouette of a bear's head upon one of the approaching visitors. He should have expected that Ulfric Stormcloak would be the first to arrive. He bowed politely as the rebel Jarl dismounted. "Welcome, Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm. I believe this is not your first pilgrimage to High Hrothgar."

"It is not," the Jarl's deep voice replied. "Before the war with the damn elves, the Greybeards were kind enough to teach me the Way of the Voice."

"A philosophy you seem to have rejected to follow," Dovahkiin contested before thinking.

Ulfric glared uneasily at the Dragonborn. "I suppose so," he growled. "I will lead myself and General Galmar Stone-Fist inside."

Myrddin nodded in reply and turned away from the Stormcloak leader. He felt sympathy towards the Jarl, who he knew had been tortured and deceived by the Thalmor, but Myrddin really did despise the arrogant man, who unknowingly was granting more power to the Aldmeri Dominion.

He could already hear the arrival of what sounded like at least five more horses. Jarl Elisif the Fair, recent widow of High King Torygg, rode flanked by two people in Imperial armor, a man in steel plate, and a figure that was tall enough only to be recognized as an Altmer. He felt the need to groan once more. The young Jarl came basically calling for confrontation with an entourage of Imperial soldiers and the Thalmor "ambassador" to Skyrim. "Greetings, Jarl Elisif, and welcome to High Hrothgar." The Dragonborn knelt and kissed the hand the noble lady offered.

He rose and nodded towards the man who had once sentenced him to an unnecessary execution. "General Tullius, Legate Rikke." He looked to the Altmer woman in Thalmor robes and could not repress a grin. "Ambassador Elenwen, good to see you again."

The former torturer of the Thalmor stared at the Dragonborn with an expression that conveyed there was something foul in the air before replying, "I'm sure."

Myrddin smirked and turned his attention back to the beautiful Jarl. "Milady, please enter and take a right to reach the place of meeting."

Elisif curtsied and led her dour troupe into the neutral grounds of the Greybeards. Dovahkiin stood watch for hours in the silent snow, greeting and guiding the various Jarls as they came with their housecarls ever present by their sides. There were Jarl Igmund of Markarth, who supported both the Empire and peace, the sullen Jarl Korir of Winterhold, Jarl Laila Law-Giver of Riften, whose ironic moniker made the Dragonborn laugh, the vain Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath, Jarl Skald the Elder of Dawnstar, who shouted his radical political views so loudly as if his volume alone could change the opinions of others, and the cautious Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun, whom Myrddin owed his allegiance. Dovahkiin greeted them all with as much courtesy and respect as he could manage. He could already feel the aggravation of the day building.

His nose began to run as he awaited the arrival of the last Jarl, but the dream of returning home once he defeated Alduin warmed his heart. Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone of Morthal had yet to appear. After uncovering a coven of vampires within the Hold, the elderly woman later repaid his service by helping him slip past the Thalmor guards at one of Elenwen's frivolous parties. She was a wise woman with the auspicious ability to know of things to come. Finally, he could pick up the sound of wooden wheels turning in the distance.

A carriage turned cautiously around the last bend in the Seven Thousand Steps, and as the vehicle creaked to a halt, Myrddin hurried to the cart's rear to aid the Jarl. The elderly woman smiled upon seeing the young man. "I apologize for my late arrival, Dragonborn. I am unable to ride a horse as I used to."

Dovahkiin nodded and offered the noble his hand. "It is no problem, my lady. Here, let me help you down."

Myrddin assisted the woman to the snow covered earth and led her up the stairs to High Hrothgar, the Jarl's housecarl following close behind. As the three entered the dimmed entrance hall of the Greybeards. The Dragonborn pointed to where Jarl Idgrod should go and approached the gathered monks, who stood very near to where they had welcomed Myrddin as Dovahkiin.

"So you've done it," Master Arngeir stated. "The men of violence are gathered here, in these halls whose very stones are dedicated to peace. I should not have agreed to host this council. The Greybeards have no business involving ourselves in such matters."

Myrddin nodded in understanding, empathetic of the Greybeard's discomfort. He really felt the same. "At least it is peace that will be found today in these halls."

The speaker of the Greybeards looked skeptical. "Peace? I doubt it. They may put their weapons down for a moment, but only to gather strength for the next bloodletting."

Myrddin looked away from the elderly man. He hoped the Greybeard's words were not true, but his heart whispered his doubts that neither side would accept the ascension of the other.

"They are not yet tired of war," Arngeir continued. "Far from it. Do you know the ancient word for war? 'Season unending'... and so it has proved. But regrets are pointless. Here we are. Take your seat at the council table, and let us see what wisdom we can find among these warriors of Skyrim."

* * *

><p>The Dragonborn turned to enter the Moot, but paused as High Hrothgar's iron doors creaked open once more. He pivoted in confusion. All the summoned parties had arrived. His hand clutched instinctively at his ebony blade's hilt upon seeing a group decked out in Akaviri armor. He looked to Arngeir in warning.<p>

Delphine led the Blades straight towards the Greybeards, never sparing Myrddin a glance. The initiates, on the other hand, glanced quickly at their former leader, shuffling their feet uncomfortably. "So. Arngeir, is it?" The Breton Blade practically spat at the old man. "You know why we're here. Are you going to let us in or not?"

Arngeir tucked his hands into his sleeves and glared back at the Blades. "You're not invited here. You're not welcome here."

Delphine recoiled as if she had been struck by the pacifistic Greybeard. "We have as much right to be at this council as all you. More actually, since we were the ones that put the Dragonborn on this path."

"We know what path you've set him on," Arngeir snapped. "But he has made a different choice. Paarthurnax is still safe from your malice."

"For now. The Blades memory is long, as you know," Delphine retorted, her threat clear to all in the room.

Esbern stepped forward, cutting between his comrade and the Greybeards. "Delphine, we are not here to rehearse old grudges. The matter at hand is urgent. Alduin must be stopped. You wouldn't have called this council if you didn't agree.

"We know a great deal about the situation and the threat that Alduin poses to us all. You need us here if you want this council to succeed."

The hall fell into a tense silence as Arngeir contemplated the old Blade's words. "Eh, very well," he accepted begrudgingly. "You may enter."

The members of the Blades brushed past the Greybeards and Dragonborn to enter the Moot. Rage built within the Dovahkiin. His dovah blood sang for the blood of the treacherous Blades that had once sworn to serve him. His hands twitched to crush bone into dust and flesh into rivers of blood. His throat ached as a thu'um called instinctively in his chest. Myrddin shook his head to clear away the anger. _Su'm arhk morah. _He repeated within his head. _Breath and focus._

As his outrage subsided, he turned to the Greybeards worriedly. "You know I will never let them touch Paarthurnax, right?"

Arngeir sighed. "Yes, Dragonborn, we know. Kynareth has blessed you with a Voice of wisdom." He paused briefly before continuing. "It is time. We should join the men of violence in their attempt to come to concordance." With that Master Arngeir walked away with the other Greybeards.

Master Einarth, however, paused and looked at Myrddin with languid eyes. The Dragonborn exhaled and looked to the stone floor. "I know..."

* * *

><p>The two were the last to enter the meeting hall. An oval stone table sat as the centerpiece of the large room, with just the right amount of chairs to sit the key players of the Moot and peace negotiation. The separation of the room was glaring to the Dragonborn. The Stormcloak Jarls stood behind their seats on one half of the table, and the Imperial Jarls did the same on the other side, each faction glaring threats and curses at the other. The housecarls and Blades initiates waited behind their leaders, awaiting any sign of an attack. Arngeir took the end of the table near the exit, while Masters Borri and Wulfgar cornered the doorways. Master Einarth followed behind Myrddin as he made his way to the head of the table and stood silently behind him. All looked to the Dragonborn in expectation, naturally granting the man blessed by the gods with the honor of sitting first.<p>

Myrddin cleared his throat in discomfort. He had never wished for nor asked for all the attention that was brought upon him. He sank miserably into the hard chair.

"Now that everyone is here," Arngeir began, "please take your seats so we can begin. I hope we have all come here in the spirit of peace..."

As the various members of the Moot began to take their places around the table, Ulfric Stormcloak stepped backwards. "No!" he exclaimed, pointing at the Thalmor ambassador. "You insult us by bringing _her _to this negotiation? Your chief Talos-hunter? To the sacred gathering of the Jarls to elect the new and rightful High King?"

Legate Rikke, who sat to the Dragonborn's left, rolled her eyes. "That didn't take long," she grumbled agitatedly, while the Jarls on Ulfric's side and General Galmar Stone-fist nodded their approval.

The Altmer woman sat up straighter, her shadow towering far above the other members of the table. "I have every right to be at this negotiation. I need to ensure that nothing is agreed to here that violates the terms of the White-Gold Concordat."

Ulfric narrowed his eyes. "Oh, the terms will be far more than violated when I take my rightful place as High King of Skyrim!"

The room burst into a cacophony of shouts and curses as the Imperialists and Stormcloaks raged at one another. Myrddin sat back in his seat perplexed at their inability to behave civilly long enough to find peace for the people of Skyrim. He was a dovah, for Shor's sake, and even he did not want more war and death for those who did not deserve it. How he hated politics.

Dovahkiin looked to Arngeir, who was trying and failing to bring order back into the room. Their disrespect of the wise man fanned the Dragonborn's rage. He sighed heavily before bringing in his breath and energy. "Enough, bruniik muz!" He shouted, his thu'um rumbling about the squabbling mortals. "Before my nah- my fury shouts you all to Oblivion!" He motioned toward General Tullius and Ambassador Elenwen, who beheld the Dragonborn with fearful eyes. "If we must dictate the terms of the Moot before it has even begun, we will get no where."

"Yes," Arngeir agreed. "We are here to find peace, not more petty conflicts."

General Tullius looked down his nose at the Stormcloak's leader. "Yes," he sneered. "And as Skyrim is still officially apart of the Empire, First Emissary Elenwen, Legate Rikke, and myself are here to ensure the stability and order of the _Empire's _province as Imperial delegates."

"Please," Arngeir pleaded and looked to the Dragonborn, who internally groaned. He knew what was coming next. "Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonborn's input on this matter."

Dovahkiin shifted to study the anticipative faces of both Tullius and Ulfric. They both seemed so sure that the Dragonborn would approve of their cause, and Myrddin wondered briefly at the two men's vast similarities. The same man fighting on two sides of the war...

As he locked eyes with the Jarl of Windhelm, the man spoke again. "By Ysmir's beard, the nerve of those Imperial bastards, eh? To think that I would sit down at the same table as that... Thalmor bitch. Either she walks or I do."

Myrddin strained to refrain from rolling his eyes. He knew the man's reasons for his mistrust and hate. He had read the Thalmor dossier himself. But he could find no pity in his soul at that moment for the man that was hindering his defeat of Alduin the World-Eater. As more hours faded with the sun, more souls were being devoured. "While the Moot is a gathering of the Jarls, Skyrim is still an Imperial province. Let them stay and personally witness what occurs this day, whether the terms are favorable for them or not..."

Jarl Balgruuf nodded his head in agreement. "Well said, Dragonborn."

Tullius and Elenwen sat back in their seats, more comfortable in their positions at the Moot. Ulfric seemed to take the Dragonborn's statement as a sign of support for his claim to the High Throne and sat down with more confidence than he had before. The Jarl still glowered at the Altmer. "Very well, I will bow to your judgment on this. But she is to observe, nothing more. We are not negotiating with her, is that clear?"

Elenwen smirked like a sabrecat that had just caught its prey in a trap. "Ulfric, why so hostile? After all, it's not the Thalmor that's burning your farms and killing your sons."

Myrddin had to slightly agree with the haughty ufiik- troll of a woman. He blamed both sides for the violence that plagued Skyrim. But he could not forget that it was the Aldmeri Dominion that had bloodied the Empire into submission in the first place. If only the Empire had held strong with Hammerfell by their side...

Legate Rikke crossed her arms and stared at the Thalmor agent incredulously. "And she's supposed to be on our side?" There were whispers of agreement from both sides of the Jarls.

"You know exactly-" Ulfric began before halting abruptly, his face crumpling in misery and remorse over events long past. "No... not this time."

"Now that that's settled," Arngeir cut in before anyone else had a chance to speak, and Myrddin nearly burst into laughter. The pacifist follower of the Way of the Voice appeared as if he wanted to strangle all those who had spoken and interrupted the Moot before it even began. "Shall we proceed?"

"I have something to say first," Ulfric spoke again.

Dovahkiin's impatience and frustration seared through his dovah blood. He felt the need to shout the vainglorious Jarl into a block of ice. He whispered the words _Iiss Slen Nus- Ice Flesh Statue_ in his mind. If it were not for his thirst for power, Myrddin pondered, Ulfric probably would not mind being immortalized as a statue for all of Tamriel to see.

Rikke seemed to share the Dragonborn's sentiments, rolling her eyes and mumbling, "Here we go."

Ulfric paid his fellow Great War veteran no mind. "The only reason I agreed to attend this Moot was in the hopes that the Jarls had finally come to realize that I, through the single combat of the 'Old Nord Way,' have become the true and rightful High King of Skyrim. There's nothing else to talk about. Unless, the Empire is finally ready to renounce its unjust claim to rule over the free people of Skyrim."

Myrddin was no expert of Skyrim history, but he had heard from many local Nords that Skyrim had always supported and been apart of the Empire founded by Tiber Septim. The very man and Dragonborn the Stormcloaks claimed to be fighting for. The other Dragon of the North.

"I knew he wouldn't be able to resist," Rikke mocked, her words pressed close to the Dragonborn's ear, who nearly choked on laughter.

"We're here to bring true order back to Skyrim," The Jarl of Windhelm pressed on, "so the Dragonborn here will be able to deal with the dragons. Nothing more. I consider even talking to the _Empire_ a generous gesture."

The Dragonborn turned to General Tullius, expecting the Imperial to counter. "Are you done? Did you come here just to make speeches? Or can we get down to business?" Many of the Jarls murmured their support.

"Yes, let's get down to business." Ulfric finally conceded.

"Are we ready to proceed?" Arngeir asked the Jarls, his restlessness apparent and understandable. When no one replied, the Master of the Voice carried on. "Jarls of Skyrim, this conference is both ancient and unprecedented. You have been summoned to gather here at the Moot to elect the new and legitimate High King of Skyrim by the Dragonborn himself. I request that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar, and do your best to begin the process of achieving a lasting peace in Skyrim."

Dovahkiin surveyed the distinct rift in the table and knew that they were going to be sitting there for quite some time, if not until Alduin himself came to eat them all. Krosis.

Arngeir turned to the Jarl of Whiterun, who sat to his right. "Jarl Balgruuf the Greater of Whiterun, since you are responsible for the calling of this Moot. Shall we begin with you?"

"Aye," the blond Nord replied, sitting up straighter in his chair. All looked to the only Jarl who had yet to take a side in Skyrim's bloody civil war. Jarl Elisif the Fair and Ulfric Stormcloak appeared confident in Balgruuf's support, just as they did the Dragonborn's.

"I, Balgruuf the Greater, Jarl of Whiterun, elect a true son of Skyrim," Lady Elisif looked as if she had been slapped, while Ulfric smirked triumphantly. "Heir to the Stormcrown of Talos himself," All Jarls looked around in confusion. "Descendant of Old Atmora and blessed by Shor and all the living gods." Myrddin felt his heart sinking into his stomach, dreading the direction the Moot seemed to have traveled.

"By the tradition of King Wulfharth, son of Kyne, himself, I elect the Dragonborn, Ysmir, Dragon of the North as the true High King of Skyrim!"

The room collapsed about them. Shouts of disbelief and outrage echoed off of High Hrothgar's stone walls. Feet and chairs stamped into the floor. Laughter arose from the old Blade, who had remained silent thus far. Fear gripped Myrddin, sending his world spinning in a whirlwind of color and sound. He gripped his head in his heads and shook in an attempt to wake into reality. _Su'um ahrk morah._ He could almost hear his brother dovah call, and the fog of fright began to fade.

"I will not have this half-Nord, Breton mutt ruling Skyrim," he could hear Ulfric protest, not bothering to raise his head. "_I_ defeated Torygg in honorable, single combat. _I _am the rightful King of Skyrim!"

"_Honorable!_" Jarl Elisif the Fair practically screeched. "You abused your power by _shouting_ my husband to death! You're a murderer! I am the wife of the former High King!"

"Skyrim is for the Nords!" One of the Stormcloak Jarls exclaimed. "I will not have Dawnstar be under any other banner!" Jarl Skald the Elder, of course, Myrddin thought, only he could talk so blaringly.

"Stop!" Esbern shouted above the den of voices, making Dovahkiin raise his head. "Are you so blind to our danger that you can't see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit arguing about... nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!" If Myrddin had not been at odds with the man and his order, he probably would have felt a swell of pride at the old Blade's words.

"Is he with you, Delphine?" Ulfric Stormcloak asked the Breton woman as if he knew her well. "If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue."

"He _is_ with me," Delphine all but snarled at the rebel Jarl. "And I advise _you _all to listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash."

Esbern took this as his cue to continue. "Don't you understand the danger? Don't you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war!

"Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face mortal danger? Who better to unite Skyrim than the Chosen of Akatosh, the man destined to be the bane of Alduin the World-Eater and the savior of our world from utter destruction, the Last Dragonborn?"

Ambassador Elenwen smiled smugly, her nose crinkled. "A very pretty speech," she mocked, "but what does it have to do-"

"Shut up!" Ulfric interrupted the Altmer. "If's he's right about Alduin... we all have as much to lose here. A High King must be proclaimed for the sake of all of Skyrim. But I will not have this half-Nord with no titles to claim on my throne!"

"_Your _throne?" Elisif began, only to be cut off by Arngeir, who had raised his hand.

"You are wrong, Jarl Ulfric," the Greybeard informed. "Despite my wish for the Dragonborn to follow the wisdom of Kynareth, this must be addressed. The Dragonborn has proven to hold the mightiest title in all of Skyrim, in all of Tamriel. I will repeat our declaration to him in the common tongue so you may all understand:

"'Long has the Stormcrown languished, without a worthy brow to sit upon it. By our breath, we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now. The Dragon of the North. Hearken to it.'

"As these words were once spoken to the young Talos when he answered the Greybeard's summon, so were they to the Dragonborn," he motioned towards Myrddin, who looked down at the table.

Idgrod Ravencrone, Jarl of Morthal, stood feebly, attempting to gain the room's attention. "I have seen today that neither Jarl Ulfric nor Jarl Elisif will cease the bloodshed while the other holds the throne of the High King. The Dragonborn aided my Hold and helped treat my ailing son. I, too, elect the Dragonborn as High King of Skyrim."

Jarl Igmund of Markarth was the next to stand. "All I ever wanted was peace, and all people of Skyrim will gladly follow the reign of the Blessed of Akatosh and Saint Alessia. You have my support and vote, Dragonborn."

Korir of Winterhold rose solemnly and spoke, "The greatness of Talos has fallen to a new hero of Akatosh and Tamriel. I follow your lead and pray it brings fortune upon my fallen city, Dragonborn."

Falkreath's Jarl Siddgeir stood slowly, his eyes lazily scanning the room. "If Alduin brings the end times upon us, there will be no drink or tavern wenches. If peace will allow the Dragonborn to defeat the World-Eater, I elect him as the true High King of Skyrim."

Dovahkiin sat back in his seat, befuddled at what was occurring. He had received over half of the Jarl's support without uttering a word or giving his consent. Arngeir looked grave at the unexpected turn of events, and the Blades, despite having a fallout with the Dragonborn, looked triumphant.

"This is ridiculous," Elenwen snarled. "This man, no, this _boy_ is proclaimed the Dragonborn and you automatically bow at his feet? Are you going to start worshiping him as you do Talos?"

Ulfric Stormcloak shot up from his chair. "Shut up! You know nothing of Skyrim or Talos, you arrogant, filthy bitch! Our traditions are sacred and will not be tarnished by your kind!" The Jarl looked straight into Myrddin's eyes, and the mortal dovah could feel his resignation. "The Dragonborn of Old have always become great rulers of our people. We have felt the power of your Voice even here today. You are truly the heir to the Stormcrown of Talos himself. You have my army and my support, Dragonborn."

Both Laila Law-Giver and Skald the Elder balked at their leader's easy surrender. The Jarl of Riften spoke first, her words cracking from anxiety. "If you believe that this man deserves our support, Jarl Ulfric, then I will follow your lead. Dragonborn you have my vote as well."

Jarl Skald of Dawnstar was not so readily persuaded. "You're going to let this Breton cur from High Rock rule over our people, we Nords?"

"He has the blessing of Akatosh and Talos," Ulfric explained, "and deserves our allegiance as such."

Skald sighed and eventually shook his head. "You are right, Jarl Ulfric. Our Nord traditions must be followed. I elect the Dragonborn..."

All turned at the table to observe the remaining Jarl, who had yet to speak. Jarl Elisif the Fair swirled her goblet full of water around, staring into its reflective depths. As she looked up, Myrddin could see the despair within her eyes. "I'm not sure what to say or do," she began cautiously, turning to General Tullius for aid.

"Tell us hear what you think," Ulfric spoke up. "Not what the treacherous Empire thinks."

Elisif's face hardened as her husband's killer spoke. "I think that my _husband _would have followed the Dragonborn to the ends of Nirn." She looked away from the gathering. "He loved the old stories of the ancient Dragonborn. Wulfharth, Talos, Morihaus... I believe Torygg would have supported the Dragonborn's reign, so I shall as well. In the name of Solitude and Torygg the former High King of Skyrim, I, Jarl Elisif, elect the Dragonborn as the rightful High King."

Myrddin stared at the banner above Arngeir's head, unable to look at the other occupants of the room. He stilled his breathing into a deep rhythm, and closed his eyes. His dovah blood boiled at opportunity for power, for domination, but his heart dreaded the swift change in his fate. He did not want to be king of anyone. He wished to return home, as he had been planning when he first crossed into Skyrim's border. The Jarls of Skyrim offered him a birthright that was not even his to take. He wanted it, his blood, his spirit wanted the Jagged Crown, but his heart did not.

"So we have come to an agreement," Arngeir said, snapping the Dragonborn from his conflicted thoughts. "Very well then. Myrddin, Dragonborn, Heir to the Stormcrown, Ysmir, Dragon of the North, by the just election of the Moot and the traditions of Old Atmora and Skyrim, you are thus proclaimed rightful High King of Skyrim."

Those gathered clapped politely, except for Ambassador Elenwen, and looked at the Dragonborn in expectation. Myrddin realized to his horror that they were awaiting his acceptance as their King. Esbern smiled encouragingly from across the table, and his eyes spoke of his pride. Arngeir did not appear so pleased with decision, but nodded at the young man none the less.

Dovahkiin rose while the others sank back into their seats. "I am not sure if I am worthy of this honor to rule Skyrim. I am not even sure I want it. But I will try my hardest to prevent Alduin's domination of Nirn so all of Skyrim and Tamriel can once again find peace and stability. As Dragonborn, my first duty is to the defeat of the World-Eater, but after his demise, Skyrim will be united once more under my reign and that of the Jarls in their Holds."

"And what of Skyrim's independence, Dragonborn?" Ulfric Stormcloak asked. "Do not forsake my support so readily..."

Myrddin turned to the Jarl of Windhelm with an audible growl. "Skyrim has seen enough senseless violence and war. I will not have its people suffer through more. You say that you are for the freedom of the people of Skyrim, and yet you send them to their deaths over worthless territory and worthless ideas. With our support, as it has always been our tradition, we will work to bring stability and _strength _back to the Empire," he looked pointedly at the Stormcloak leader.

"You gain our allegiance and send us straight back into the Empire and the damn Thalmor?" Jarl Skald the Elder demanded angrily, his fellow Stormcloak supporters nodding in agreement.

The Dragonborn felt the frustration of the trying day rising to the surface. The Nord Jarls did not seem to comprehend the art of subtly, but the Thalmor ambassador and Imperial officers did. Elenwen glowered at the Dovahkiin while Tullius and Rikke smiled appreciatively. "I believe I am doing what is best for the _people_ of Skyrim, not your ambitions. If you do not agree, then maybe you are not right to rule either," Myrddin warned the disgruntled Jarls.

"The Dragonborn is right," Jarl Ulfric conceded. Myrddin could practically see the cogs in his head working as if it was a Dwemer machine. "The people of Skyrim have seen enough bloodshed."

Dovahkiin nodded slightly and a silent message and understanding was passed between the mortal dovah and the Jarl.

"Well then," Arngeir said, "a High King of Skrim has been declared, and the fate of the nation has been decided. Do we all agree to these terms?"

Ulfric rose and spoke for the Stormcloaks. "The sons of Skyrim will live up to their agreements as long as the High King holds up to his."

Tullius stood. "The Empire can live with these terms, yes. And I hope we can have a lasting and peaceful relationship with Skyrim's new High King."

* * *

><p>As if the Empire's representative brought a finality to the Moot and council, many of the Jarls rose and prepared to leave after pledging their allegiance to the High King, whose coronation would be after his defeat of Alduin. Legate Rikke shook his hand enthusiastically while General Tullius gave the Dragonborn his aloof approval.<p>

Ulfric Stormcloak came to his side and bowed slightly, General Galmar his ever present shadow. "I expect great things and change from your reign, Dragonborn."

Myrddin grabbed the Jarl's wrist and shook it. "You can count on that, Jarl Ulfric. With the support of Skyrim, the Empire will be ready for when the Thalmor attempt to conquer again. You will have your revenge. Evgir Unslaad."

"Evgir Unslaad...Very well. I place my trust and that of my people in your hands, your highness."

As the Jarl of Windhelm walked away, his allies squawking over Myrddin's decision to support the Empire, the events of the day and into the night began to sink in like blood on snow. He was the High King of Skyrim, a title that both exhilarated and frightened him. His dovah sos- dragon blood yearned too much for domination. He glared as the Jarl of Whiterun approached, his blue eyes smoldering. "Why did you do that? We did not plan on me being High King!"

Jarl Balgruuf smiled at the younger man. "In order to trap a dragon in my palace like a madman, you promised to bring lasting peace to Skyrim so I would not have to prepare for an attack from two enemies. You brought me peace."

"You could've voted for Elisif or Ulfric!"

"And we would have been in the same position we were already in. Neither side would have accepted what they consider defeat. You are the one who was able to bridge the gap between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks. Besides, it is your rightful claim as Heir to the Stormcrown."

Myrddin shook his head. "I do not want the title or honor."

"But you have kept your promise and brought my city peace, Dragonborn. You have quelled Elisif's thirst for vengeance and Ulfric's for power. You will do well as our High King."

Dovahkiin grunted in reply. "So I can now trap a dragon in Dragonsreach?"

"I'm ready to do my part. It would be my honor to aid the Dragonborn in the defeat of Alduin the World-Eater. Just say the word, and my men will help you spring this trap."

As he and the Jarl separated, Myrddin approached the Blades, his former friends, intending to threaten them into promptly leaving High Hrothgar. Esbern spoke first. "I believe I could be of help in you calling a dragon to Dragonsreach, Dragonborn."

Myrddin glared at the old man and crossed his arms. The Blades were lucky he hadn't beaten in their skulls yet. "I'm not interested in your help if it has a price, Esbern."

Delphine stepped between the Dragonborn and Blades archivist. "Listen, we want Alduin destroyed just as much as you do. We may not agree on certain... issues, but none of that- nothing will matter if Alduin is allowed to destroy the world."

Dovahkiin sighed and motioned for Esbern to speak.

"I anticipated the problem. While you were arranging this meeting, I was busy in the library of Sky Haven Temple. An unguessed trove of lost lore... but the important thing is that the Blades recorded many of the names of dragons they had slew. Cross-referencing this with Delphine's map of dragon burial sites, I believe I have identified the name of one of the dragons Alduin has raised up."

"Wait, you're saying to call a dragon by its name, aren't you?"

"Yes, exactly, every dragon's name is three Words of Power-shouts. By calling the dragon with the Voice, he will hear you, wherever he may be."

"Why would he even come to my call?"

"He's not compelled to, but, as you know, dragons are prideful by nature and loath to refuse a challenge. Your Voice in particular is likely to intrigue this dragon, after your victory over Alduin. I think it very likely he will be unable to resist investigating your call."

"So what's this dragon's name?"

"Ah, indeed. I'm no master of the Voice, like these fine gentlemen here, but it is written here in this scroll. Od-Ah-Viing- Snow Hunter Wing. I'm sure he will come when you call."

Myrddin nodded his head but did not smile at the Blade. "Thank you for your help, but-"

"But I have to ask you to leave," Arngeir interrupted. "The Moot is dismissed and the Dragonborn has discovered how to summon a dragon, so you are no longer welcome in these halls."

"Wouldn't want to stay here looking at the sky, anyway." Delphine replied as she began to walk away, the others following her lead. "Congratulations on your coronation, Dragonborn. I'm sure you will be a... _merciful _king."

Myrddin briefly caught Lydia's eye before both looked away quickly, but from that look, he knew there was hurt on both sides. He hoped that the Blades would someday join his side again to combat true problems that faced Tamriel, not petty retribution for crimes long past and repented for. Arngeir turned to the Dragonborn with a weary frown. "It was not my intent in aiding them in your ascent to sovereignty, Dragonborn."

"I know, master," the auburn-haired man replied. "And it was not my intent to ever gain such power."

"We are often led down paths we do not seek for ourselves. I believe you already know that lesson quite well. Your actions have shown that you follow the path of wisdom. It is my hope that Kyne will keep you on this path and guide you through your reign."

The fear was building again, and Myrddin knew he had to depart from the company of joorre- mortals. There was only one being who could understand his plight.

As he pushed on the doors to High Hrothgar, Arngeir called, "Where are you going at this hour, Dragonborn?"

Dovahkiin did not bother to look back. "To see Paarthurnax."

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><p>Myrddin braved the harsh wind and ice on the way to the Monahven- the Throat of the World to talk to his dovah brother and mentor. He sat across from the dragon, his back propped against the broken word wall, pouring his fears and exhilaration out to the wise dragon. When Dovahkiin finished his retelling of the day's events, Paarthurnax laughed deeply. "Dez los munax. Fate is cruel. The joorre- mortals give you power as a birthright just as it was once given to Alduin by all dov and muz- men. Your dovah sos- dragon blood must revel at the chance for domination."<p>

The mortal peered up at the immortal dovah. "Tol los faas. I am afraid of my own nature, Paarthurnax. Do I have the capability to become like Alduin?"

"Krosis. Dez nimaar los vanmindoraan. We cannot know what fate has in store, despite our connection to Akatosh and tiid- time. But you are special Dovahkiin. Bormah Akatosh has gifted you with the sil- soul of a dovah and the heart of a joor- mortal."

"I can't see how that is a good thing."

"Geh, krosis, you have the will and... thirst to rule as your zeymah- brother dov, but your jul- human heart fears that yol- fire. Do not fear your nature, Dovahkiin. Your heart seems to always restrain your dovah sos and nature. Though..." The old dragon looked to the stars pondering his words. "One must feel very... sizaan- lost at being the only joor dovah in all of the lein- world."

Myrddin placed his chin on his knees and looked off into the distant stars, silently agreeing with the elder dovah's wisdom. The world was a very lonely place for a Dragonborn.

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><p>Chapter Notes: This is just how I think lasting peace may be possible in Skyrim. And if you're wondering why Ulfric Stormcloak bent so easily to the Dragonborn's will, well, he is a staunch supporter of Nord tradition, and Dovahkiin basically promised him that they would go to war with the Thalmor, not the Empire. We'll see much more on this issue after the Dragonborn battles Alduin in Sovengarde.<p>

I hope you like the chapter and story so far. Please tell me what you think.

**Dragon Word of the Day: joor-** it means "mortal," in the plural form seems to be "joorre." **Jul**, interestingly, means "man" and "human."

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review.

Gufetto


	3. Chapter 3

Heir to the Stormcrown

Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Elder Scrolls series.**

**AN:** So, I'm not really that sure about this chapter, but I think it's as good as I can get it. I'm really excited because, except for one scene next chapter, this is the end of the game's storyline, and I can begin writing the real plot.

**Anonymous reviews... or people who just weren't logged on:**

**TheThousandthson: **Thank you for reading and reviewing despite not being logged in. It means a lot. I enjoy hearing what people are thinking about the story.

Also, thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, alerted, and favorited. And gratitude to those who have simply just read the story so far. Even that is very much appreciated.

Please enjoy.

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><p>Dovahkiin pulled his bow string taut, testing its strength and range. He could hear the clattering of armor and steel as the Whiterun guards awaited their Jarl anxiously and prepared to face a living, breathing dragon. Myrddin had once shared their fears. A monstrous creature shouting flame or ice at a mortal was enough to make the most valiant Nord quiver in fright. He looked to the skies into Kynareth's realm and noted the lack of haze and cloud. The gods seemed to favor their actions that day.<p>

The large doors that led to Numinex's cage groaned open, and the Dragonborn turned in expectation that the Jarl was ready to trap the dovah Odahviing. He stopped short when he realized who had truly arrived. "Lydia?"

The raven-haired woman gave the Dragonborn a small, hesitant smile as she approached. "My Thane..."

"Why aren't you at Sky Haven Temple with the other Blades," he asked in concern, noticing she still wore the Akaviri armor of the dragon slaying order.

"I..." She paused, her brow furrowing in thought. "I realized that my first duty was not to the slaying of dragons in Tamriel or solely to the Blades. My duty is to my Thane... and my friend, who just so happens to be the Dragonborn. If you will have me back..."

Myrddin pulled his housecarl into a brief embrace before pulling back. "Of course I will have you at my side. I've missed you... I've missed everyone."

"Don't worry about the other Blades," Lydia stated. "They believe that their obligation is to fight the dragons in Nirn, but they have yet to realize that they also swore an oath to serve and protect the Dragonborn. Delphine is stubborn, but Mjoll, Kharjo, and Faendal are all regretting your departure. I'm sure they will come around."

"Tiid fen fundein. Only time will show us if they will abandon their quest for vengeance."

"Oh," Lydia exclaimed, rummaging for something within a bag she had strapped around her shoulder. "You left this in your trunk at the Temple."

She held up a white scroll, and Myrddin felt his heart drop. How had he forgotten the Kel- the Elder Scroll? An object that could cause grave destruction and madness if in the wrong hands. He took the offered artifact and weighed it in his hands. "How did you find this?"

The housecarl's face reddened considerably. "I was going through your things to see if you had left anything you needed, and it was right there on top of all your books. Looked expensive..."

Dovahkiin looked down at the sacred scroll of mysterious origins and handed it back to Lydia. "Keep it safe for now. It has no place where I plan to go. Just... don't open it, okay?"

As Lydia was about to reply, Jarl Balgruuf stepped out into the balcony that once held Dovahkiin's brother dovah Numinex. "As I promised, my men stand ready. The great chains are oiled. We wait on your words," the Jarl stated as he came towards the future High King and his housecarl.

Dovahkiin breathed deeply, steeling himself for another battle with his fellow dovah. This time it was different. This time he could not let his instinct for domination to take over. Odahviing could not perish by his blade. "I think I'm ready, but remember," he turned to gaze into the face of every warrior present, "we need this dragon alive. I know you will be frightened, but distract him to the best of your ability."

Those gathered nodded in understanding, their determination in aiding the Dragonborn set. Myrddin walked to the balcony's ledge and looked out at the vast expanse of Whiterun's plains and the mountains that bordered it. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing the Words of Power to fill his being. "Od Ah Viing!"

The Dragonborn's Thu'um and summons reverberated through the valley, causing birds to take flight in fear and a horse to bray as it was spooked. The echo of the Thu'um faded into the mountains, and the world around the group fell into silence. Balgruuf's Dunmer housecarl Irileth gazed into sky. "Well, did it work?"

"I'm not sure," Dovahkiin replied quietly, his ears straining for a distant flap of wings or a Shout. "I think maybe I should-"

He ceased talking as a roar came from behind him. He pivoted in time to see the dovah Odahviing sailing over the palace's roof. Myrddin dodged swiftly as large talons grasped hold of a guard by his side. The Whiterun sentry let out a bloodcurdling scream as he was snatched into the air, his sword and shield falling uselessly to the ground. The Dragonborn readied an arrow, closed his right eye, and took aim, silencing the poor guard before he plummeted to the earth. It was a small mercy. "Draw him closer to the cage!" He ordered the others, who were busily firing useless arrows at the dragon.

Odahviing swept upwards and then plunged toward the warriors, causing them to scatter. Myrddin could imagine the dovah's amusement at making the joorre so frightened. Alduin's ally perched gracefully on the balcony's ledge and turned to the Dragonborn. "Dovahkiin! Here I am! Yol Toor Shul!"

Myrddin conjured a ward to shield himself from the unforgiving flames. "Use a ward spell, if you know one!" He instructed the others, few actually capable performing of the guardian magic. Nords were so wary of the arcane arts...

He ducked out of cover as the Shout faded and slung his blunted ebony sword down on the dovah's crimson head. He turned slightly to dodge an assault of deadly fangs and inhaled sharply. "Fo Krah Diin!"

A blizzard of glacial air seared against the dragon's scales. Odahviing roared in pain and recoiled from the Dovahkiin. "Hin Thu'um los mul, Dovahkiin, nuz ful los Thu'um."

As the dovah took to the sky, Dovahkiin shouted, "Joor Zah Frul!"

Blue energy propelled toward the dragon and wrapped its wings in a strangling embrace. Odahviing fell into the stone of Dragonsreach, shouting curses the Dragonborn had yet to comprehend. "Get back," Myrddin ordered the other mortals, while luring his kin closer to Olaf's ancient trap.

The dragon followed the young man as he backed away, fire and fangs assaulting the mortal who had dared to challenge Alduin and triumphed. Before Myrddin realized he was in the cage far enough, a great piece of wood in the shape of an ox's yoke slammed into Odahviing's neck, pinning the dovah to the stone floor. "Nid!" The dovah cried out in the despair of having his freedom snatched from his grasp. Myrddin knew this was especially maddening to those with the dovah sos- dragon blood.

"I think it's holding," one of the guards gasped in amazement at both capturing a live dragon and surviving the ordeal.

Dovahkiin approached his brother, despite the Jarl's and his housecarl's protests, and let the dovah speak. "Horvutah med kadaav. Caught like a bear in a trap..." Odahviing sighed. "Zok frini ko grah drun viiki, Dovahkiin. Ah. I forget. You do not yet have the dovah speech. My eagerness... to meet you in battle was my undoing... Dovahkiin. I salute your, hmm, low cunning in devising such a grahmindol- stratagem."

"I would not have used my, um, 'low cunning' to trap you if it wasn't necessary, zeymah. I know it must be... hevno."

"Geh. Zu'u bonaar. You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this... humiliating position. Hind siiv Alduin, hmm? No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?"

Myrddin nodded. "Geh. You know where he is hiding, do you not?"

"Riniik vazah," Odahviing replied in the Dragon Tongue. "An apt phrase. Alduin bovul. One reason I came to your call was to test your Thu'um for myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin's lordship, whether his Thu'um was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. Mu ni meyye. None were yet ready to openly defy him."

"Does that mean you will tell me where Alduin is?"

"Unslaad krosis. Innumerable pardons, I digress." The dragon apologized. "He has traveled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the sillesejoor- the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards... His door to Sovengarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til. I surely do not need to warn you that all of his remaining strength is marshaled there.

"Zu'u lost ofan hin laan... Now that I have answered your question, you will allow me to go free?"

Dovahkiin scratched his chin and wondered what the best option would be to stop a dovah from harming humans. "Do you promise to heed my commands instead of Alduin's?"

"Aam? Serve you? ...no. Ni tiid. If and when you defeat Alduin, I will reconsider. Hmm... krosis. There is one detail... about Skuldafn that I neglected to mention."

Myrddin narrowed his eyes at the dovah, wary of his ploy. "And what would that be?"

"Only this. You have the Thu'um of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot in Skuldafn. Of course... I could fly you there. But not when I am imprisoned like this..."

The Dragonborn laughed at the creature who shared the same blood and nature as him. "Boziik, Odahviing. Very clever. If you give me your word on your kah that you will fly me to Skuldafn, I will release you."

"Onikaan koraav gein miraad. It is wise to recognize when you only have one choice. And you can trust me. Zu'u ni tahrodiis. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now. Free me, and I will carry you to Skuldafn."

Dovahkiin had to respect Odahviing's independent spirit, and he wondered if all dovah were considering to leave Alduin's tyranny. He turned to the Jarl and Lydia, who asked suspiciously, "Why do you look like your planning something?"

Myrddin grinned through his dragonscale helm. "Release the trap!" He commanded the guards so coarsely they immediately jumped into action before thinking consciously.

"What are you doing?" The court wizard Farengar bellowed. "I was supposed to be able to speak with and study this magnificent creature!"

Jarl Balgruuf looked to his men and ordered, "Carry on. This is all apart of the Dragonborn's plan."

The wooden yoke retreated from the base of Odahviing's neck, and the dragon shook his head and laughed gutturally. "Faas nu, zini dein ruthi ahst vaal." The dovah began to walk towards the balcony's ledge.

Lydia grabbed Myrddin's arm before he could follow the dragon. "I'm not sure this is such a good idea... Allow me to come with you."

The Dragonborn chuckled at the rogue Blade. "I don't think Odahviing would appreciate that very much. Don't worry. I won't let Alduin destroy this world." He smiled. "I like it too much."

Myrddin pulled out of the housecarl's grip and joined his brother dovah. "Saraan uth- I await your command, as promised. Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can?"

Dovahkiin nodded in determination. "Take me to Skuldafn."

"Zok brit uth! I warn you, once you've flown the skies of Keizaal, your envy of the dov will only increase." Odahviing lowered his head to allow the Dragonborn to climb up and exclaimed, "Amativ! Mu bo kotin stinselok!"

As the dragon took to the freedom of the sky, Myrddin could hear Irileth calling, "You're either the bravest person I've ever met, or the biggest fool..."

Dovahkiin laughed into the wind, feeling invincible in the great expanse of Kynareth's realm. It seemed almost a cruelty to him that he was born with the soul of a dragon but was not able to take flight like the true children of Akatosh.

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><p>Magnus, the sun, was at their backs when they finally arrived in the eastern mountains. Odahviing landed with ease on a circular stone clearing that seemed to be made specifically for dovah, and Myddrin hopped nimbly from the dragon's back. "This is as far as I can take you." Odahviing lamented. "Krif voth ahkrin. I will look for your return, or Alduin's."<p>

Dovahkiin nodded solemnly. The dovah did not sound like he hoped for the World-Eater's return. "Su'um ahrk morah, Odahviing." The mortal bade the dovah farewell and watched as the dragon's crimson wings faded into the light of the sun.

Myrddin stared up at Alduin's stronghold, which was built in the ancient style of the Dragon Cult. He was unsure of what to expect within its massive walls. He passed through the first archway in the path up to Skuldafn and froze at the all too familiar rasping of a draugr, a dovah worshiper cursed to an eternity of undead life. He then audibly cursed as the roar of a dragon also reverberated through the fortress. The dovah's brown body hurtled toward the Dragonborn, who barely dodged the unexpected attack.

An object slammed into his shoulder and ricocheted off in a random direction, and Myrddin watched the arrow in awe, marveling at the strength of his dragonscale armor. Arrows' trajectories seemed to be displaced completely by the tough skin of the dovah.

Jaws snapped at the Dovahkiin as he twisted to strike the dragon, his sharpened ebony blade ripping through the dovah's snout. The dragon cried out in suffering, and Mryddin, like a man possessed, grabbed hold of one of the dragon's horns and threw himself onto the creature's head. He stabbed his sword into the dovah's skull as many times as he could while clinging onto the dragon's flailing body. With a swift twist by the dragon, the Dragonborn went crashing into the earth. As he brought himself back to his feet, Myrddin watched as the dovah's head dropped, and its body began to smolder and then burst into flame.

Red and orange blinded him as he took the dovah's soul, its very being into himself. He felt its fierce loyalty to Alduin's lordship and its rage at the dov who had abandoned their eldest brother's sacred and krilot- valiant cause. He panted, the exhilaration of the kill, the conquest overwhelming him.

Another arrow hit his armor, and he looked up at the draugr, his blue eyes glowing with some unnatural force. He felt the understanding of a new Word of Power piecing itself together within his soul._ Defeat._ He inhaled and then shouted, "Zun Haal Viik!"

The draugr's ancient Nord bow flew far from its hands, leaving it defenseless. Dovahkiin smirked at his helpless enemy. He would bring unending peace to all the undead that roamed and guarded Alduin's hall.

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><p>Dovahkiin roared as he cut into a draugr Overlord's neck, sending its grotesque head flying across the ruined hall. He wiped absently at the dragon and draugr blood that stained his face and armor and looked to a type of door he had seen in so many Dragon Cult fortresses. He realized he could not unlock the passage until he found the dragon claw key. Krosis. Myrddin scanned the dimmed hallway, looking for any trace of a metallic claw with jeweled talons. He eventually spotted the key on the belt of the recently slain draugr and plucked it from the unholy creature's belt.<p>

He shifted the rings to match the key. Fox, Moth, Dragon. And then turned the claw within its unique lock. The rings swirled and came to a halt before the stone door sank into the ancient, crumbling floor. Myrddin entered a high-ceilinged hall, lined with the thrones of former lords of the Dragon Cult. He paused by one of the thrones to observe the skeleton of a man who had never been prepared for eternal service to a Dragon Priest and briefly wondered why he had not been subjected to the curse that robbed mortals' souls of the serenity after death.

As he approached the doors that led to Skuldafn's ramparts, he felt the distant call of a Word of Power. An intact Word Wall was raised up above the thrones at the end of the hall. The Dovah Word swirled into his mind, but the comprehension had yet to come. A vision of lightning entered his mind's eye, and Myrddin knew which Shout he would soon understand, the last word of the fearsome Storm Call.

He pushed Skuldafn's doors open and barely ducked in time to avoid an ebony ax that sailed through where his head had once been. The Dragonborn kicked out at the draugr that was basically on top of him, desperate to create space between himself and his enemy. He inhaled and let the essence of a Thu'um fill him. "Fus Ro Dah!"

The undead warrior flew across the fortress's wall, and Dovahkiin sighed upon noticing the undead creature's horned helmet that signified it was a Deathlord among the draugr. They were strong and worthy foes, a threat to even the Dragonborn. He rushed the draugr, bringing his blade down on its shriveled body. The Deathlord rose, despite the blows, and rasped out a shout of its own, "Zun Haal Viik!"

Myrddin's sword was swept forcefully out of his grip, falling uselessly down from Skuldafn's ramparts. He growled threateningly and sidestepped as the draugr followed up with a swing of its black war ax. Dovahkiin grabbed the draugr's helm by its horns and brought the creature's head down on his striking knee. As the Deathlord rebounded backwards, Myrddin swept it off of its feet and followed it to the ground. He snatched its neck and brought the draugr's head repeatedly down onto the stone of the stronghold's walls. Undead blood splattered through the air, the creature's withered hand twitching slightly before becoming still.

The Dragonborn picked up the draugr's ebony war ax and tossed it lightly in his hand. He was not as skilled with a one-handed ax as he was with the sword, but it was going to have to do. He could hear a low hum coming from farther up the walls and allowed the foreign noise to guide him to where he needed to travel. As he ascended the rampart's steps, he noticed a Dragon Priest chanting before a swirling wall of golden light and air. Myrddin felt his breath leave him. The portal to Sovngarde was just beyond the presence of the powerful priest of the Dragon Cult.

An earsplitting Shout echoed across Skuldafn, and Dovahkiin's attention was torn from the spectacle of Alduin's power. He looked up to find two dov flanking the window to Sovngarde, perched on pillars carved into the heads of dragons. The Dragonborn stepped back reflexively. The dovah to the right, its scales a glaring white that contrasted its black spikes, took to the wind and Shouted words of frost at the mortal dovah.

Myrddin rolled out of the Thu'um's path and noticed that the other dovah, an ancient copper, had decided to not join the battle for dominance. Thank the gods. He turned to the frost dragon and shouted the Words that would force his brother to feel his mortality. "Joor Zah Frul!"

The dragon, one of Alduin's only remaining allies, boomed in terror and rage and crashed into the ground. Dovahkiin pulled his magicka into the form of flame in his left hand and unleashed the fire's fury onto the ice dragon. He swung the war ax onto its head until in uttered its defeat and burst into floating embers.

He closed his eyes as he claimed yet another dovah sil. The Word of Power he had recently encountered came to him suddenly. _Lightning._

As if reading into the Dovahkiin's soul, a bolt of natural energy collided with the back of the young man's head, sending him flying across the platform. His dragonscale helm tumbled off to some unknown location. He scrambled to his feet, searching for the source of the unexpected attack. He found that the Dragon Priest had turned its attention from Sovngarde's portal and was pointing a staff in his direction.

He dodged through the bolts of lightning the staff emitted, attempting to get close enough to the draugr for the magical weapon to be ineffective. He grunted as energy burned into his shoulder, and the Dragonborn realized he would be charred to Oblivion before he got anywhere near the undead priest. He knew of only one Thu'um that could effectively defeat the most powerful of all draugr, but he was hesitant to use the nearly uncontrollable Shout around a creature that had so far been peaceable. Another attack hissed past his ear, and he knew he would have to attempt to control the mighty Words of Power. He inhaled and focused solely on the Dragon Priest. "Strun Bah Qo!"

Kynareth's realm darkened instantly, and thunder rumbled through the near black clouds. A torrent of rain battered down on the Dragonborn's unprotected head, sending his auburn curls down over his eyes. White and purple flashes struck down from above, repeatedly burning through the draugr's armor and robes. The undead being attempted to raise its staff once more, but fell into ash as it moved forward.

Myrddin observed that the ancient dovah had yet to move or be hit by the once unruly lightning and smiled up at the weeping heavens. He had learned to control one of the most powerful of the Dragon Shouts with the help of a deceased zeymah and Kyne herself. The Dragonborn looked to the dragon who had not attempted to attack him and stared into his similar blue eyes. The two dovah, one mortal and one immortal, studied each other intently and silently.

"Kaan ofan hin Thu'um kogaan, Dovahkiin," the dragon spoke first.

Dovahkiin was not sure exactly what the much older dovah said about his Thu'um, but he bowed to his elder, both out of respect and thanks. "You are free to go your own way now, zeymah," he called up, using Odahviing's words.

The dovah nodded its head in silence and soared from its perch. As it roared into the distance, Myrddin could tell the dragon sang of freedom. The dov did not have to serve Alduin any longer.

The Dragonborn looked about, trying to find his helm, but realized that it had been lost to searing energy and gravity. He walked up the platform where the Dragon Priest had once stood, frowning at the portal that had been closed. He looked down at a circular pattern in front of his feet and noticed a small hole that most likely fit a key of some sort. Myrddin lifted his head and searched around for any clues. A circular keyhole... about the circumference of a staff. He grinned triumphantly and grabbed the Dragon Priest's staff from the top of the draugr's ashes.

Dovahkiin steadied the staff in both of his hands and jammed it into the seal. The ground where the portal had once been collapsed downward, and a column of golden light rose into the sky. The window to Sovngarde let out a near deafening hum that forced the mortal dovah to cover his ears. He breathed in deeply to steady his beating heart and leapt into the unknown, praying he was Sovngarde bound.

* * *

><p>Myrddin opened his eyes to the most beautiful night sky he had ever beheld. Shades of blue, violet, and red painted the stars in tranquil light that silenced even the dovah's intense soul. Hooded statues stood a silent watch, welcoming and guarding all new souls to the realm of the glorious dead. A great hall peeked over snowy cliffs, singing of Sovngarde's true glory. Dovahkiin felt his rage flare. How dare Alduin soil such serenity, such beauty. He would make the World-Eater pay for his crimes.<p>

He began his descent down into the lands of Sovngarde. Wind from the portal blew against his back, as if encouraging him to continue forward. As he reached the base of the stairs, the torches that guided his way disappeared, and he was encompassed in a fog that no man could peer through. Myrddin was not sure, but the haze seemed out of place among the other aspects of Sovngarde's environment.

The Dragonborn knew he would be lost to the fog if he did not do something to clear his way. _Clear Skies. _He contemplated the Words of Power, taking their meaning into himself. "Lok Vah Koor!"

The mist retreated immediately from around him, and the Dragonborn was able to see the path that would hopefully lead him to Alduin's doom, gods permit. A silhouette emerged from the fog that had become distant. As the figure strode closer, Myrddin could make out the man's scaled helmet and blue sash over chain mail. A Stormcloak soldier. The mortal who still breathed life could not help but notice the ethereal glow that encircled the fallen rebel's body.

"Turn back, traveler," the Stormcloak ordered the Dragonborn. "Terror awaits within this mist! Many have braved the shadowed vale, but vain is all courage that against the peril that guards the way."

"What is this mist?"

"I do not know, but none has passed through. Alduin, his hunger insatiable, hunts the lost souls snared within this shadowed valley. Can you lead the way to where Shor's hall waits, beckoning us on to welcome long sought?"

Myrddin nearly gasped at the honored soul's words. Shor's hall? Lorkhan himself, the missing god who was the architect of Nirn, the Champion of Men, and the very rival of Akatosh? "You said 'Shor's Hall'?" He asked the fallen soldier incredulously.

"Don't you know? What drew you here? Surely your dreams showed you the way." The Stormcloak appeared genuinely shocked at the Dovahkiin's ignorance. "The Hall of Valor, where heroes await to follow Shor to the final battle.

"I saw it fair when I first trod this long-sought path . The pain and fear vanished, dreamlike, and a vision beckoned. Shor's hall, shimmering across the clouded vale. But quenched was hope by the shrouding mist. My mind is darkened. I've lost the way and wander blindly. Hurry! Before Alduin your life devours! Bring word to Shor's Hall of our hard fate!"

The Dragonborn reached out to grasp the resigned soul's arm in encouragement and pulled his covered hand back abruptly at the energy that passed between the living and the dead. The fallen Stormcloak did not seem to notice his reaction. He shook his head to clear his surprise. "Do not worry," he assured the soul. "I can clear the mist from the path to guide us both to Shor's hall. Follow close."

The soldier seemed touched by the stranger's kindness and valor. "I'll try to hold to your hopeful purpose. Quickly now, before this encompassing fog once again ensnares me in the World-Eater's net!"

The mist had rolled back around the two men, the Dragonborn's Thu'um only able to temporarily disperse Alduin's dreadful trap. Dovahkiin shouted the Words of Power again. "Lok Vah Koor!"

The fog receded once more, and the way to Shor's hall appeared. Myrddin began to jog down the stone pathway but paused when he realized the fallen soldier did not follow. He looked back impatiently. "Swiftly now! My Thu'um will guide our way for only so long."

"You... You Shouted!" The Stormcloak marveled. "Like the heroes of Old! You're Dragonborn!"

Dovahkiin turned away from the soul without responding and resumed walking. He could then hear the soldier following close behind. Black wings emerged above the mist, and the Dragonborn pulled the ebony war ax from his belt. He turned to the Stormcloak to see the soul shaking in fear of the World-Eater. As he was about to reassure the soldier of his safety, Myrddin could hear Alduin's dreadful Thu'um. "Ven Mul Riik!"

The fog rushed heavily around the travelers, and the Dragonborn cursed loudly. He did not yet have enough energy to perform another shout. "We need to go. Now!" He ordered the fallen Stormcloak.

The living and dead mortals sprinted down what they thought to still be the path to Shor's hall. Myrddin briefly heard the swish of wings behind him and then a cry of terror, and he knew his valiant companion had been taken by Alduin's claws. He halted and looked up into the mist. "Al-Du-In!" He bellowed the first son of Akatosh's name. "Come and face me, coward!"

A harsh laughter came from far away. "Los mey, Dovahkiin."

The Dragonborn roared, no real words taking form, and Sovngarde shook about him. "Zu fen krii, Alduin!"

When no reply came, Myrddin continued forward with storming strides, eventually coming to a split in the path. He turned right and carried on until he saw an unimaginable bridge of what appeared to be a spine in the distance. Mist swirled back into his vision. "Lok Vah Koor!"

Dovahkiin's dragonscale boots splashed through a whispering stream of the bluest water he had ever seen, and he finally arrived at the entrance to the Hall of Valor. A man the size of a giant stood before the bridge. "What brings you, wayfarer grim," the man greeted the Dragonborn as he approached, "to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to honor the dead?"

Dovahkiin looked the glowing man in the eyes. "I pursue Alduin, the World-Eater."

"A fateful errand. No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here in Sovngarde's threshold. But Shor restrained our wrathful onslaught, perhaps deep-counseled, your doom he foresaw."

"My doom may come," Myrddin responded, "but so will Alduin's"

The man laughed heartily. "A heroic soul you have. Perhaps you speak true, wayfarer. And perhaps not. I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor. The Whalebone Bridge, he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall. Where welcome, well-earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor."

The Dragonborn nodded, his understanding of the realm deepening. "Then, I seek entrance to the Hall of Valor."

"No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?"

Myrddin knew this was his first trial to gain passage across what Tsun had called the Whalebone Bridge. He needed to act like he deserved entrance. He held his head high as he answered the shield-thane of Shor. "By right of birth. I am Dragonborn, here to rid all of Mundus of Alduin's wrath."

"Ah! It's been too long since I've faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon."

Dovahkiin paused, the giant man's words sinking in. "Wait... face? Face you?"

"Aye. Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none shall pass this perilous bridge, til I deem them worthy the warrior's test." Tsun then pulled his battle ax without warning, the Dragonborn hardly dodging the mighty swing.

Myrddin pushed the immortal back by shouting, "Fus Ro Dah!"

He pulled out his one-handed ax and swung down fiercely. Despite the attack not creating a physical mark on the soul, Tsun grunted in pain and surprise. The Dragonborn's Thu'um was strong. The shield-thane swung his ax again, expecting the mortal to pull back once more. Instead, Dovahkiin ducked underneath the massive blade and sprang upwards, the hilt of his ax colliding with his adversary's head.

Tsun stumbled backward and lowered his weapon. "You fought well," he admitted. "I find you worthy. It is long since one of the living has entered here. May Shor's light follow you and your errand."

Myrddin nodded in thanks and wiped the sweat from his brow. Tsun's attack made him wonder and fear what would happen to his soul if he were to perish in the realm of the dead. He walked uneasily through the Whale's split skull and traveled with the utmost caution over the Whalebone Bridge, clinging close to the many vertebrae.

* * *

><p>As he pushed in the towering hall's ornate door, the Dragonborn was blinded by a light that seared through his vision and into his very soul. He closed his eyes quickly and shook his head as if it would ease the pain. "Welcome, Dragonborn!" He heard someone welcome warmly.<p>

He opened his eyes warily and found no more pain assaulting his eyes. A man in the armor of the ancient Nords and a battle ax that he had only beheld in broken shards stood before him. It was Ysgramor the harbinger of the Five Hundred Companions and his legendary ax Wuuthrad. "Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here," the harbinger continued. "By Shor's command, we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale's dark mist.

"But three await your word to release their fury upon the perilous foe. Gormlaith the fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Hakon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim."

Myrddin looked about Shor's hall searching for the three warriors and thought the hall was vaguely akin to the Companion's Jorrvaskr. Meat roasted over open flames. A great table was brimming with food for all the valiant souls of Sovngarde to share. An empty throne sat in the center of a high table, catching the Dragonborn's eye. "Shor's high seat stands empty," a hero informed the Dovahkiin. "His mein is too bright for mortal eyes."

He speculated that it was Shor himself that had initially caused him such agony. Myrddin found Paarthurnax's first apprentices gathered together, easily recognizing them from his vision at the Time Wound. As he approached, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt unsheathed her sword and held it high. "At long last, Alduin's doom is now ours to seal. Just speak the word and with high hearts, we'll hasten forth to smite the Worm wherever he lurks."

"Hold, comrades," Felldir the Old spoke up, "let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined. Alduin's mist is more than a snare; its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with four Voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle."

Hakon One-Eye nodded his agreement. "Felldir speaks wisdom. The World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe. "

All three ancient warriors wielded their varying blades and headed towards the hall's only exit. "To battle my friends," Gormlaith exclaimed. "The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills undaunted!"

Dovahkiin, the three heroes by his side, made his way back over the Whalebone Bridge. His ears began to drum with the sound of his beating heart. His dovah sos was preparing for battle with a fellow dovah. "The eyes of Shor are upon you this day," Tsun informed the Dragonborn as he passed. "Defeat Alduin and destroy his soul-snare."

The four students of Paarthurnax stood before the entrance of the Whalebone Bridge, gazing into the impenetrable fog of Alduin's soul-snare. "We cannot fight our foe in this mist," Felldir stated.

Gormlaith nodded. "Clear Skies! Combine our shouts!"

Myrddin inhaled and thought of the Words he had already used so many times in Shor's realm. As the Thu'um escaped his lips, his ears echoed with the Shouts of three humans. The mist retreated swiftly from the might of four complete Shouts.

The Dragonborn grinned, thinking that for once things had gone according to plan. His stomach sank in disappointment and anger as Alduin's Thu'um reverberated through the valley. "Ven Mul Riik!"

The soul-snare advanced to the edge of their feet and Gormlaith cursed, "Damn that Worm to Oblivion! Again! His power crumbles!"

Felldir agreed. "One more time and the World-Eater must face us!"

The four repeated the Words of Power. "Lok Vah Koor!" _Sky Spring Summer!_

The soul-snare disappeared almost instantly, and Alduin himself flew over the mountain that stood in the center of the valley, sending a shower of rock upon the mortal dovah and his allies. As the World-Eater flew overhead, the first human practitioners of the Voice unleashed the Shout of their own invention. "Joor Zah Frul!"

The Shouts of three warriors sent Alduin hurtling onto Sovngarde's ground, and Dovahkiin released his own Thu'um upon the eldest dovah. "Yol Toor Shul!"

The flames encompassed Alduin as the mist had the Dragonborn earlier. The World-Eater roared and swung his tail at his brother dovah. "Zu'u lost kiraan hi ont, nu hin sille fen nahkip suleyki," Alduin yelled, his jaws grabbing at his ancient foes.

Hakon One-Eye threw his battle ax into Alduin's head, slinging it backward. Gormlaith and Felldir came upon the dragon, their blades readied and swinging. As steel and ebony cut through his scales, Alduin backed cautiously away, unable to yet take to Sovngarde's sky. "Fus Ro Dah!"

Alduin's Thu'um of force sent the warriors flying. Myrddin tumbled through the vale's soft grass and bashed his unprotected head against a stone, finally coming to a halt. He rose to his knees slowly and tried to clear his head and vision, blood seeping from his temple and nose. Battle cries and the clash of metal against scale rang in his ears. His vision blurred and sharpened in a cycle that sent his head reeling. He stumbled clumsily to rejoin the battle against the World-Eater, which did not sound like it was going well.

Alduin had flown back into the air and Shouted fire and rock from above. All three of the ancient Nord warriors knelt in pain and defeat, and Dovahkiin realized sullenly that their very souls were at risk by Alduin. He balled his fists and braced himself once more for battle. He would not let his allies down. Alduin had no claim to their souls or any other mortal's. "Al Du In!" He called in the form of a Thu'um, challenging the older dovah to open battle. On his kah- his pride, the World-Eater could not refuse.

"Pahlok, Dovahkiin," Alduin declared while flying overhead, "wah yah grah. I will enjoy taking your soul."

"Meyz krif, Alduin!" The Dragonborn jeered back. "Los nivahriin? Are you frightened?"

"Nid," the World-Eater laughed. "You cannot ronit- rival me without that tahrodiis Paarthurnax's aid."

"Come and see then! Joor Zah Frul!"

Alduin's wings were bound by the ominous Shout, and he landed deliberately in front of the Dragonborn, fangs swiping at the mortal dovah. Myrddin pulled back and hit the dragon squarely in the face with his ax. Alduin roared and shouted "Yol Toor Shul!"

"Lok Vah Koor!" Dovhakiin countered, completely negating the other dovah's assault.

He panted heavily and felt his muscles straining with each swing of his blade. Myrddin realized grimly that he had been fighting dov and draugr throughout the day, while Alduin had been growing stronger through the souls of joorre. He was not so sure in his destiny any longer. Maybe Alduin was always supposed to bring about the end times, no Dragonborn capable of preventing him.

The World-Eater's tail barreled into him with enough force to throw the mortal far away, but the Dragonborn stood firm, disregarding the pain of shattering bone and tearing flesh. His blue eyes bored into Alduin's red, unable to actually move his hurting body. He would not give up his world, his friends so easily. He held his ground as Alduin's jaws clamped down on his torso. He could hear his bones fracturing and felt a warmth throughout his body underneath his skin.

"No!" Someone cried from a distant place, their voice thick with sorrow and rage.

Dovahkiin smiled at his brother dovah, a warm liquid running down his chin. Alduin squeezed his teeth tighter into the mortal's chest, causing him to cough painfully. A Thu'um arose in the Dragonborn's soul, and he whispered softly upon his ax, "Su Grah Dun."

The air about the ebony ax came alive, swirling and whistling around the looted weapon. Dovahkiin raised it high with his shattered arm and cut deeply into Alduin's skull numerous times. The World-Eater roared in pain and fury, releasing the Dragonborn from his deadly hold.

It was too late for the first born of Akatosh. The dovah's blood rained down upon the fallen Dovahkiin, and the mortal knew he had accomplished what he had set out to do. Nirn would be safe from Alduin's wrath. As his world darkened, he could feel the heat of flame as Alduin's body faded into the Kyne's domain.

"It is done!" Someone exclaimed from what seemed far away. "Alduin... vanquished..."

Myrddin attempted to catch the man's words as they began to fade away, but found he could not control his movements or hearing. He choked on liquid as he inhaled, forcing him to cough. His bones stabbed at him as he moved, and he felt himself slipping from consciousness. Cool hands ran along his beaten face, and as they attempted to raise him up, Dovahkiin cried out in agony. "...Dragonborn...broken..."

He could make out a different voice, its tone felt deeper than the others. "Shor... way...Keep closed..."

Another hand, courser, pressed against his eyelids, but they could not shield all light from the Dragonborn's eyes. A golden glow filled the young man's world, lulling him peacefully into sleep, but then a clear, thundering voice spoke, shaking Dovahkiin's very soul. "...Must not...here...Take... wall..."

Arms slipped painfully underneath his body and then lifted him into weightlessness, snatching him from the light that calmed his soul. He could feel his life falling from him as a stranger's bounding steps carried him to an unknowable destination. Eventually, he could feel downy grass beneath his sticky fingers as he was laid gently down. Dovahkiin let out a sigh, blood bubbling from his mouth, as the amber light returned. Its voice spoke once more, but the young man was no longer able to comprehend any of the words.

Hands pushed against the Dragonborn's chest and fire burned through his body. Myrddin's world flashed into indescribable colors of pain, and then he felt nothing. His breath softened, only a dull aching remaining in his lungs. The light shifted and glared straight through his covered eyes. "Live, Dovahkiin, with my blessing and wield my breath with valor." The speaker's voice, who was undoubtedly Shor, shook Myrddin's very being, his soul quaking within his battered but partially healed body. "Return to Nirn, now, and bring peace back to my creation."

Various pairs of hands lifted the Dragonborn up and propped his back against stone. As Shor shouted the Words of Power, "Nahl Daal Vus," light and wind swirled around Myrddin, and he departed from the realm of the honored dead.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes: <strong>I always doubted that the Dragonborn would come out of his final battle with Alduin unscathed. They are kind of portrayed as equals, so it seems fitting that they would both mortally wound each other. Dovahkiin is just lucky he has Shor's favor.

When I first used the Storm Call Shout, I was fighting a dragon in Winterhold, and I ended up accidentally killing all the guards, a College student, a merchant lady, and my horse. Really big bounty... I wanted to make that Shout more controllable just because its so awesome and you can't use it when allies are near.

Going into my original storyline next chapter!

**Dragon Word of the Day: krosis- **the literal translation is "sorrow," but it seems to have layered meanings. Odvahviing says in one part "Unslaad krosis" to apologize. The actual meaning is "Unending sorrow," but he translates it himself as "Innumerable pardons."

Please review. I would love to hear what you think.

Thank you for reading!

Gufetto


	4. Chapter 4

Heir to the Stormcrown

Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I did not have any part in the creation of the true Elder Scrolls series, nor do I hold any rights to it.**

**AN: **So, now that the main quest is finally completed (Sorry for the end game summary. It was kind of necessary, Moot and all...), it's time to get down to the original plot! Hopefully you will all like the direction the story will travel. If not? Well... I'm not sure if I can apologize for the way my imagination works. But know that this chapter is about getting things settled after the main quest. The real action comes later. :)

Oh, and just a heads up, I've changed the appearance of the Jagged Crown. A helm is not a crown, dammit!

Thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed, alerted, and/or favorited! You all rock.

Anyway, please enjoy.

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><p>Myrddin awoke with his back against the Word Wall at the place that legends sang as being the very beginnings of Nirn, the sky having breathed upon the land. It seemed fitting to the Dragonborn that he would travel here from the realm of Tamriel's creator, who gave his immortal life to construct the land of mortals. Flakes of snow tingled against his blood-stained face, their touch whispering of their being. The wind brushed gently on his skin, and he could feel its song of freedom and joy. He shook his head, unable to comprehend the unfamiliar but true sensations of Mundus, Shor's conception. It was as if he was feeling the very spirit of creation.<p>

He eventually looked upward, praying into the realm of Kyne for solace and understanding. His eyes widened at the gathering of dov that rested themselves on the peaks of the Monahven- the Throat of the World, staring silently down upon their mortal brother. Dovahkiin rose unsteadily to his feet while propping himself against the wall at his back, his body crying out in pain at the simple exertion of moving. He looked to all the dov gathered with wary caution. He was unsure how they would react to the downfall of their eldest brother and former lord. He prepared himself for the worst as the dragons lifted their heads upwards and shouted in unison, "Alduin mahlaan!"

The Dragonborn's blue eyes widened. The dov were both mourning and celebrating the defeat of Alduin.

"Sahrot thur quhnaraan," one of the dragons Shouted into the heavens before taking to the melodic winds.

The dov once again repeated, "Aluin mahlaan!"

More dragons sailed upward. Another dovah looked to the conqueror of Alduin. "Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid," he praised before joining his zeymah above the sacred mountain.

"Alduin mahlaan!"

Three dov remained , only one familiar to Myrddin. "Thu'umii los nahlot!"

"Alduin mahlaan!"

"Mu los vamir!"

"Alduin mahlaan!"

Dovahkiin looked to the only dovah that was yet grounded, his expression solemn. "So it is done. Alduin dilon. The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been," Paarthurnax spoke, his Voice dragging and heavy.

Myrddin nodded his head slowly. For some reason, he felt his brother's sorrow, all the dov's sorrow. "It is done," he reaffirmed the wise dragon's own words. "I did what I thought was right."

"Of course. Alduin wahlaan daanii. You did what was necessary. I would not have helped you if I thought otherwise. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his pahlok- in the arrogance of his power. But I cannot celebrate his fall. Zu'u tiiraaz ahst ok mah. He was my brother once. This world will never be the same."

"Geh," Dovahkiin replied quietly, "but we are better without him."

"Perhaps." Paarthurnax conceded. "At least we will continue to exist. Grik los lein. And, as you told me once, the next world will have to take care of itself. Ful nii los. Even I cannot see past Time's ending.

"But I forget myself. Krosis. So los mid fahdon. Melancholy is an easy trap for a dovah to fall into. You have won a mighty victory. Sahrot krongrah- one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savor your triumph, Dovahkiin. This will not be the last of what you will write upon the currents of Time."

Paarthurnax joined the sons of Akatosh in the sky, leaving the wingless and mortal dovah alone. "Garann!" He exclaimed down to the Dragonborn with the first hint of joy that day. "I feel younger than I have in many an age! Many of the dovahhe are now scattered across Keizaal. Without Alduin's lordship, they may yet bow to the vahzen... the rightness of my Thu'um. But willing or no, they will hear it! Fare thee well, Dovahkiin!"

Myrddin gave the immortal dovah a slight smile, but his face did match it. He could feel that he would not have the comfort of speaking to his wise brother for quite some time. As Paarthurnax blended into the swirling of the now free dov, Dovahkiin felt more alone than he had ever before. He could feel the ripple of Time at the place where his honored allies had torn into the very realm of Akatosh, mightiest and most wise of the gods. It was a wound that swam within everything and nothing, where no being could be created or destroyed.

The mortal dovah was distracted from his contemplation as crimson wings thundered to the ground. "Pruzah wundunne wah Wuth Gein." Odahviing addressed the Dragonborn. "I wish the old one luck in his... quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin's lordship for the tyranny of Paarthurnax's 'Way of the Voice.'

"As for myself, you've proven your mastery twice over. Thuri, Dovahkiin. I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu'um. Zu'u Odahviing. Call me when you have need, and I will come if I can."

With those words of allegiance and parting, Odahviing also left Myrddin to his thoughts at the Throat of the World. The mortal watched as the dov departed and went their separate ways. None able to withstand the presence of the others for very long. The need for dominance was too great and Shouted within their souls. He prayed for the serenity of his fellow dov. Whether they would take to Paarthurnax's wise and challenging philosophy or not, Dovahkiin let them go their own way, allowing them, for the first time, to bask in the joyfulness of freedom from any being's tyranny. But if any dov decided to continue Alduin's cause, the Dragonborn knew he would come and snatch their souls away.

Myrddin sighed, unsure of the path that laid ahead of him. Paarthurnax had told him that he had much yet to do, but Dovahkiin was conflicted on whether or not he wished to accomplish any more. He had saved Nirn and Sovngarde from Alduin's destiny and soul-snare. He had brought peace and order to Skyrim and the Empire. What more could the gods ask of him? And then the words of the mighty Shor came back into his mind. The dead god's creation, which Myrddin, by the grace and hands of Shor, now felt all around him, called for peace, and only one mortal had been given the divine blessing and bidding to do so.

* * *

><p>Sea gulls glided through the currents of wind over Solitude's port, vehemently lamenting the fact that no sailors were present to steal food from. Waves slapped against the hulls of tall ships. A bell echoed hollowly through the docks as the wind pushed against it. All the sounds that were familiar to a life on the sea were present except for the raucous cursing of sailing men and the coarse, often scornful commands of a ship's boatswain.<p>

The people of Solitude, like many from the other Holds of Skyrim, were not to be found going about their daily tasks. They had another purpose. A purpose that was sacred and elemental to the superstitious peoples of Skyrim. They went to witness the coronation of a new High King, a man who walked in the footsteps of the great King Wulfharth and Talos himself. The Dragonborn was once again taking his rightful place as the ruler of men and conqueror of nations. It was a sight that few in Skyrim dared miss.

All citizens of Skyrim, man, mer, and beast, pressed within the current capital's cobbled streets, all attempting to push themselves closer to the Chapel of the Divines. Imperial soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder with former Stormcloaks, Khajiit, who had been temporarily permitted into the city by the Dragonborn's orders, laughed at the jokes of Argonians, and Dunmer bantered with Nords that were usually suspicious of their actions.

Vendors and entrepreneurs took full advantage of the auspicious event and its following festivities. They shouted through the crowds offering food, drink, entertainment, and false souvenirs of the Dragonborn's heroic battles against the savage dragons. One merchant held a shard of mammoth bone high into the air, advertising, "Don't miss out on this once in a lifetime opportunity! I hold here in my very hand the remnants of a dragon defeated by the Dragonborn himself! A mere 80 septims!"

Imperial soldiers and Solitude guards held spectators back from the entrance of the Temple, where many noble men and women sat in pews, waiting for the arrival of the future High King. A line of thrones sat across from the wooden doors of the chapel, the banners of each Jarl hanging over its proper seat. All the seats were filled except for the tallest and most ornate of the thrones, which stood in the center of the places of honor, no banner above it.

Inside the chapel, the Divines' high priest Rorlund slipped on his ceremonial robes and looked to the young man, who, as Nord tradition demanded, had knelt before the alters of the gods as the twin moons Masser and Secunda rose and fell. The servant of the gods looked to the windows to gain where the sun stood in the sky. "It is time," he informed those within the chapel.

One of the Temple of Divines' priestesses stepped toward the Dragonborn and draped a black cloak, lined with the fur of an ice wolf, around his shoulders, while another priestess placed the ancient Jagged Crown onto a velvet pillow. The man stood slowly and bowed slightly to the alters of the gods, one glaringly absent, before turning to the chapels doors, his dark blue eyes burning with a determination. It was time.

The heavy wooden doors to the Temple of the Divines banged open. The nobles stood respectfully and the sea of common people fell silent as the three priests and Dragonborn proceeded to the foot of the vacant throne of the High King of Skyrim. Rorlund and the two priestesses stood closest to the throne and rotated to face the young man who was about to be declared Skyrim's High King. The high priest motioned silently to the Dragonborn, who knelt with both knees on the stones of Solitude's castle dour.

Rorlund quietly cleared his throat before speaking, his voice echoing from the city's walls and buildings. "Myrddin Ysmir, Dragon of the North, and favored of all the gods, you have come on this consecrated day, North Wind's Prayer, to be crowned as High King of Skyrim. With the blessings of the gods, the Jarls, and the very people of Skyrim, do you swear to ensure the safety and health of the people whether through peace or war, to protect the land from any threat be it external or internal?

"To rule with the devotion of the great Akatosh, first amongst the gods, with the neutrality of Arkay, friend to all mortals, with the creativity of Dibella, patron of all that is beautiful, with the wisdom of Julianos, whose logic guides our minds, with the fortune of Kynareth, queen of the skies and winds, with the love of Mara, mother to us all, with the mercy of Stendarr, who brings justice to all evil, and with the righteousness of Zenithar, who brings wealth to those who seek it?

"Do you swear to uphold these convents within your reign to bring peace and order to all of Skyrim?"

"I so swear."

The priest gently grabbed the Jagged Crown of King Harold, carved from dragon bone and adorned with dragon teeth, and hovered it over the Dragonborn's head.

"Then in the name of the blessed Saint Alessia, eternal queen of man, the mighty Shor, and all the Eight Divines, I name thee Myrddin Ysmir, Dragon of the North, Heir to the Stormcrown of King Wulfharth, and High King of Skyrim."

Rorlund lowered the crown on top of the new High King's auburn hair and stepped back. High King Myrddin Ysmir rose from the ground, and the crowd burst into applause and joyous cheers. They had gained a true hero as King, a man who had saved them all from Alduin and the end times, brought unity between the obsessive hatred of the feuding Jarls and peace with the Empire that had been apart of their culture for hundreds of years. As he stood in front of the highest throne in the courtyard, a grey banner unfurled above his head, decorated with two dragons, one crimson and the other black, twisting upwards in an eternal battle, their bodies adorned with the spiked horns of a true dovah.

Dovahkiin raised his hands to quiet the deafening roar of the combined applause of the people of Skyrim. "Thank you!" He began as loudly as he could without shaking the world around the fragile mortals. "Thank you for your support and tenacity in these troubling times, in the face of war and poverty and destruction! Without you, without all of you, we would not be here today, celebrating the order and prosperity peace provides!

"We are a battered nation. Our fields run with the blood of Skyrim's sons and daughters, our brothers and sisters. Our ancient cities crumble from decay and corruption. Our farms burn in the flames of war and dragons. We fear to brave the very roads and mountains of our beautiful lands, lest we be snatched by bandits or worse.

"It is a time for rebirth and reprieve from the horrors of war and conflict. Guards will once again patrol the highways. Men will return to their trades. Homes will be rebuilt. Together, we enter the unknown, a new period in Skyrim's vast and ancient history. A period of unity, reconstruction, and perseverance. Together, with the Jarls, we will forge Skyrim back into a nation that our ancestors can be proud of!"

Solitude once again rang with the people's elated praise. Myrddin took his place at the throne of the High King, barely suppressing the grimace he felt inside. He was not at ease speaking so formally or in front of so many people, but at the same time, his dovah blood relished the power and attention.

To his left, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak nodded solemnly, as was his way. "A fine speech to fill the Nord people's hearts with hope. But, as even you have admitted, peace will not last long. The Thalmor will come, and we will be ready."

Myrddin nearly rolled his eyes at the Jarl's bigotry. _Nord people, _as if they were the only race in Skyrim. He, the High King, was not even a full Nord. "Yes," the Dragonborn eventually replied, his tone mild. "They will come, and we will _all _fight once more, this time as a unified nation. But until that day comes, we heal our self-inflicted wounds and rebuild that which was shattered."

Ulfric turned away from Myrddin after the King's subtle rebuke and began to speak quietly with the Jarl of Dawnstar Skald the Elder. To his right, Jarl Elisif the Fair smiled warmly and squeezed his hand as if it reassure him. Dovahkiin raised his eyebrows, unsure of the noble woman's intentions, and gently slid his hand free of her grasp. He had learned through a rather traumatic experience in his youth not to get involved with women of high standing. The beautiful Jarl gave him a wounded pout and glare before also turning from the new High King with a huff.

Myrddin sighed and sank a little lower on his throne. It was going to be a long day...

* * *

><p>The Dragonborn drummed his fingers across the table that had been set up as an impromptu meeting room in the Emperor's Tower, where Jarl Elisif had graciously allowed him to temporarily stay and govern the nation. His other hand pressed against his aching head, and he bemoaned the amount of ale and Stros M'kai Rum he had drank the night before. After his ascension to the throne, the city of Solitude had come alive with dance and song, people feasting and drinking, and the occasional spectacle of Khajiit acrobats. It was a rare night of carefree revelry and reprieve from the troubles of the often cruel world.<p>

Unfortunately, the High King's morning had not been so pleasant. He had awoken in a strange bed with a strange woman by his side, who had initially attempted to kick him violently out before realizing who exactly she had shared the night with. Then she began planning marriage. After escaping the ambitious hagraven's clawed grasp, he had beat it quickly back to his quarters with a miserable hangover, only to have his appointed steward and adviser Brunwulf Free-Winter pull him into the meeting hall to discuss his new responsibilities, privileges, and sacred duties. That's where he sat, his head pounding and attentions on anything but the tattered country's political situation. Whoever said that it was nice to be king lied.

"After deducting fees for the court, servants, charity, and castle, when you build one, your income comes down to one fifth of the percentage you gain from the taxes of each Hold, which is variable considering the assorted prosperity of the province's regions." Brunwulf Free-Winter looked up from the parchment he was reading aloud. "Your Highness, are you paying attention?"

Myrddin lifted his head and looked to the steward lazily. "Aam? Oh, unslaad krosis. You were speaking of my income..."

"Aye," the steward replied while rolling up the document. "The Jarls should be here at any moment to discuss their duties with the new High King before returning to their Holds. After all the chaos of the Great War and then Ulfric's rebellion, it will take time to rebuild, but with your leadership and the hard work of we Nords, I'm sure this nation can come together again."

Dovahkiin poured a goblet full of mead and drank deeply before responding. "We'll see, I suppose." He looked around finally noticing a glaring absence. "Have you seen Lydia?"

"No, sire, I have not."

"Strange..."

As he was contemplating the lack of his ever present housecarl by his side, the room's doors opened loudly, making him cover his ears in pain. He silently cursed the Jarls for their carelessness as they began to stream into the meeting hall, taking their seats around the table. The Dragonborn observed with little amusement that their seating arrangements were literally the same as they had been at the Moot. That proved how divided the leaders of Skyrim truly were even after the fighting ceased. Commander Tullius and Legate Rikke stepped cautiously into the gathering that had yet to begin, joining the meeting just as the High King had requested and without the contentious Thalmor ambassador.

Jarl Ulfric stood before the two veteran Imperial soldiers had a chance to sit. "What are _they_ doing here? This is a meeting of the Jarls!"

"Are we really going to have to go over this conversation again?" Myrddin growled at the Jarl of Windhelm. "Skyrim is an Imperial province, and as such, it is the Imperials' responsibility as well as ours to keep the citizens of Skyrim safe."

"Thank you, High King Myrddin," General Tullius stated as he took his seat beside Jarl Elisif. "I can gladly say that the Empire, despite our current lack of an Emperor, is greatly looking forward to having a lasting and peaceful relationship with your sovereignty."

Ulfric crossed his arms and scoffed but said no more on the issue. Instead, he settled to glowering at the Nord woman who had once been his comrade in the Great War. The Legate glared back. Dovahkiin sighed irritably. He was not in the mood to deal with the childishness of politics. "Are we all here then?" He asked those gathered.

"No," Jarl Skald of Dawnstar informed the king, the scorn apparent on his tone. "That drunken lecher from Falkreath has yet to arrive."

Myrddin could have Shouted them all into Oblivion. Of course it was Jarl Siddgeir who would not show up. "Do you know where he might be?" He questioned as politely as he could manage. "We cannot begin until all the Jarls have made an appearance."

"I believe the tavern would be a good place to start," Jarl Igmund of Markarth offered.

Dovahkiin nodded and turned to Brunwulf Free-Winter. "Could you send a guard to find him promptly, please?"

"Of course," the steward replied, walking to the door.

"Oh, and Brunwulf?" Myrddin called. "Be sure to tell the guard he is permitted to use any force necessary."

The honorable Nord paused in the doorway. "Yes, sire."

The High King couldn't help but grin at the mixture of shock and amusement that painted the Jarls' faces. Some even gave mirthful snorts as the still drunken Jarl was dragged into the room by a Solitude guard, his feet stumbling and catching on themselves. He plopped heavily into the table's remaining seat, and his forehead banged against the wood's surface.

Myrddin chuckled softly. "Jarl Siddgeir, I see you had quite the time at the festivities last night."

Falkreath's Jarl held a finger limply in the air, his face still down. "More wine for the lovely ladies..."

The room of Jarls, who were normally sour in each others' presence, burst into rounds of laughter at the inebriated Siddgeir's expense. Despite the frustration of having to stay in the meeting even longer because of the Jarl's tardiness, Myrddin had to smile at its results. The leaders of Skyrim's Holds laughed and joked together. It was a small step towards unity, but a step none the less. The Dragonborn turned to a slight man with bright orange hair who had been hired as the royal scribe. "Could you please make an extra copy of today's discussions for the esteemed Jarl Siddgeir, Karl?"

The scribe jumped at being addressed directly by the sovereign, and fumbled with his quill and parchment. "Of course, Your Majesty! I will complete it right after the council."

Myrddin sighed. He was going to have to get used to the Your Majesty's and Your Highness's. It really was trying. "Good man," he praised the scribe before turning back to the Jarls. "Right, now that we've all arrived... at least figuratively, let's get down to business." He pulled the map of Skyrim closer to himself on studied it intently. "Why don't we begin with one of the most pressing matters concerning Skyrim at the moment?

"While Hold guards began to leave their positions to join the civil war on either side, bandits have been taking advantage of the lack of security and have holed themselves up in most of the abandoned forts around Skyrim. They rape and pillage and murder any unfortunate soul they come across. Our first objective, now that peace has been found, should be to gain control of the roads once more. Regular patrols should be placed along each route, and the forts must be cleared and have guards garrisoned in them."

"That sounds like an awful lot of territory for our guards to cover, Dragonborn," Jarl Balgruuf, the ruler of the largest Hold observed.

Dovahkiin nodded. "Aye, and that is where the Imperial Legion will play its part in bringing stability back to Skyrim. Right, General?"

Tullius smiled kindly at the Dragonborn, who was proving to be a very reasonable man. "Of course, sire. Patrols will set out as soon as I return to headquarters."

"Wait!" The Jarl of Windhelm exclaimed, his voice seething with fury. "I will not have Imperial soldiers invading my Hold. The more territory you give _them,_ the more power they will take from all of us. I will not have Imperials or those damned Thalmor within my walls or my Hold!"

There was a quiet rustling of agreement from the other Jarls. Myrddin sat forward and propped his elbows on the table, intertwining his fingers. "Is that your concern, Jarl Ulfric?"

"It is."

"Then we must come to some sort of resolution on this matter. I will not have people being snatched from the roads when I could have had troops there to prevent it." Dovahkiin scratched his chin in thought. Ulfric Stormcloak always seemed to enjoy causing predicaments. "Would you assent if the Imperial troops and Thalmor were ordered to stay a certain amount of distance from your Hold's capital?"

The Jarl of Windhelm seemed to contemplate this option before sighing. "I do not believe I will be given a better choice. Very well, I will agree... for the sake of the people."

"It's settled then," the Dragonborn stated. "No Imperial units, including the Thalmor, will be allowed within a mile of any of the Holds' capitals. This territory will be the sole responsibility of the Hold itself to regulate."

"Now, just hold a minute," General Tullius spoke up. "The Imperial Legion Headquarters is here in Solitude, Your Highness. You can't just expect us to pack up and leave the city!"

"He is right, sire," Elisif the Fair agreed with the Commander. "The Imperial Legion is more than welcome within my Hold and city."

Myrddin frowned at the young Jarl, who shrank from the mortal dovah's piercing gaze, before he looked away to the other Jarls. He knew a precedent had to be set. "What say the rest of you? Do you wish to keep the Imperials from your cities?"

Jarl Ulfric, all of his followers, and some of the former Imperial Jarls agreed with the decision. Despite the new found peace with the Empire, the bitterness of blood drawn and lives taken was slow to fade. "The Jarls have spoken. General Tullius, your troops are to withdraw from the cities and take up posts in the forts that are cleared along the roads."

"This is absurd!" The General sneered, much to Ulfric Stormcloak's delight. "You pretend to make peace with us and then kick us out of your cities as if we were an invading enemy?"

Dovahkiin growled and prepared to take the arrogant Imperial man's challenge, but a calm voice spoke first. "General Tullius, if I may?" Legate Rikke formally addressed her superior.

Tullius looked none too pleased with the woman's boldness. "Go ahead, Legate Rikke."

The Nord Legate smiled toward the Dragonborn as if to show her support before speaking to the Commander. "I do not believe the Dragonborn has proposed this law to bring about tensions between the Imperials and the people of Skyrim. In fact, occupying a city is far more likely to cause enmity and distrust between the two. Trust will be gained by keeping the roads and wilderness safe for the people, and acceptance will eventually return to these people who have seen so much bloodshed."

Myrddin nodded at the perceptive soldier. "Thank you, Legate Rikke. That is exactly what I hope this law to accomplish." What he didn't or ever dare to say aloud was that the decree also prevented the Imperials from a swift invasion of the Holds' cities if the opportunity ever arose.

Commander Tullius gave a resigned sigh and conceded. He had been outnumbered. "I suppose I am left with no other choice but to agree..."

"Good. Thank you for your wise acceptance on this matter, General Tullius. I have only two more issues I wish to discuss before we can all go get some sleep that has been obviously missed." Myrddin looked to the Jarl Igmund of Markarth. "The Foresworn have become a lasting and deadly problem within your Hold, have they not, Jarl Igmund?"

The Jarl nodded his gray head solemnly. "They have. They hide within the very stones of the mountains and spring when you least expect it. They're savages. I've captured their leader Madanach, and the creatures still attack my guards and citizens."

Dovahkiin nodded his head, pondering at how similar the Foresworn's refusal to accept defeat was to that of a dovah's. "Nid drem fah munax. They do not seem like they will give up so easily. The Western Reach has always been a contested territory between High Rock and Skyrim, and they believe it is their right to govern the land that they have lived in for centuries. Go to this Madanach and offer him some sort of power or territory in exchange for peace-"

Ulfric Stormcloak laughed bitterly. "I should have known a half-Nord from High Rock would take the side of those Breton savages. Should those terrorists not be punished for their crimes, Y_our __Majesty_?"

Myrddin rose from his seat, his head pounding in protest, and glared at the unruly Jarl. "Pahlok bron!" His Voice made the room tremble around the gathering, causing pictures and ornaments to fall from the walls and Jarl Siddgeir from his chair. "Let me finish before you begin your mutinous rantings!" He turned back to the Jarl of Markarth. "If you can find no resolution to the conflict without bloodshed, then send the Imperial troops that will be coming to your Hold to begin clearing the Reach's many caverns and valleys."

"Yes," General Tullius agreed. "Once the Foresworn witness what destruction the Legion can rain upon their enemies, their revolutionary ideals will surely fade. And if not, they will all die an agonizing and poignant death."

The Jarl of Windhelm scoffed at the Imperial Commander. "As your troops showed my men? I do not believe much result will come of this endeavor." He looked to the High King. "Dragonborn, allow me to take some men into the Reach and clear its valleys of the Foresworn menace. I have fought them before and know their tactics."

Myrddin shifted uncomfortably under the expectant gazes of the General and Jarl. He was unsure of who to actually trust, the pragmatic Imperial or the dutiful but ambitious Jarl. But he knew as High King, indecision was not an option and often deadly. "For now, I will allow Jarl Igmund to take control of the situation as he sees fit, and if this does not bear fruit, we shall have to find an alternative."

The Jarl of Markarth nodded in gratitude on the Dragonborn allowance for him to do what he thought was best for his Hold. "Thank you, Your Highness. I will do my utmost to rid the Reach of its senseless violence, whether through negotiation or battle."

"I trust your judgments on the matter, Jarl Igmund," Myrddin responded. "Jarl Korir of Winterhold," he addressed the sullen man who had remained silent thus far. "Your Hold has fallen on troubling times. Few remain in the intact sections of your city, and as more leave to find prosperity elsewhere, your economy suffers greatly. Winterhold was once a proud capital in Skyrim, with a flourishing culture and mercantile spirit.

"It is my wish to restore Winterhold to its former greatness and give you the opportunity to be of equal standing with the other Holds. Considering the economic hardships of your Hold, I will grant you a certain percentage of my own income as High King to rebuild that which was lost during the Great Collapse."

Jarl Skald the Elder stood abruptly. "You cannot use the septims you receive from every Hold to aid just one! I might as well give you no money if I cannot profit from my allegaince!" Many of the Jarls murmured their agreement.

"Do you not see past your own greed?" Dovahkiin demanded of the Jarls, his frustration quaking about them. "The restoration of Winterhold will bring trade back to our northern eastern coast, and thus, profit to all the Holds, especially yours Jarl Skald, with the quicksilver mines that are scattered across Dawnstar!"

The Jarl of Dawnstar sat back down with a huff and for once remained silent. Myrddin took this as his opportunity to continue. "Are these terms agreeable to you, Jarl Korir?"

The red haired man nodded. "Yes, My Liege. You are a most generous sovereign. I am honored at the chance to bring Winterhold back to its ancient glory."

"Very good. Adviser Brunwulf Free-Winter will go over the details with you, Jarl Korir." Dovahkiin looked around the table at all the Jarls. "I have said all that I need to. I hope we can begin to bring order back for the people of Skyrim. If that is all, we are-"

"Apologies, Your Highness," Jarl Balgruuf interrupted his former Thane. "There is one matter I wish to discuss before we all disperse to our separate Holds."

Myrddin, though dreading having to dwell longer, knew the Jarl of Whiterun would not have spoken up if the matter had not been of importance. "What is on your mind, Jarl Balgruuf?"

The blonde Jarl shifted uncomfortably in his seat before beginning. "It is understandable that you have yet to have a court of your own considering your were not a Jarl when crowned, but many have questioned that your placement here in Solitude will cause an... unbalance in the province's power and the neutrality of its High King. Many have already begun to call you 'the Throneless King.'"

"That is ridiculous!" Jarl Elisif of Solitude nearly screeched in offense. "I have no part in the Dragonborn's role as High King! You are welcome here as long as you like, sire."

Ulfric laughed quietly and looked to the predominately male Jarls at the table. "Yes, we all know that a beautiful woman of ambition has no sway over the judgments of typically reasonable men."

"How dare you!" The young woman cried in outrage. "My _husband_-"

"Kos nahlot!" Dovahkiin Shouted over the Jarls' unslaad krif- unending feud. "That is enough! I have heard the two of you bickering for too many days. Silence!" He looked to Balgruuf. "I have been mulling over this issue myself, Jarl Balgruuf, and I can assure you, all of you, that a palace for the High King is well on its way."

The Whiterun Jarl smiled at the Dragonborn. "It is good news to hear. My concerns have been quelled, sire."

Myrddin sighed in relief. "Now that all matters have been discussed and, gods permit, solved. This council is adjourned. You are now free to return to your Holds."

* * *

><p>Those gathered, even the stumbling Jarl Siddgeir, left the Dragonborn to a calming silence. He placed his aching head onto the wooden table and closed his eyes. He could feel the hum of life within the air and the carved wood itself. He was still fighting to adjust to the sensation of never truly being alone. Shor's energy and creation dwelt within every single object in Nirn, singing of life and beauty. The doors to the room creaked open once more, and Dovahkiin sighed wearily. He was tired of speaking to meyye joorre. "Myrddin?"<p>

The young man looked up as his housecarl peeked into the meeting hall and called him informally. His housecarl, who had been missing since the night before, looked deeply concerned. "What is it, Lydia? Where have you been?"

The dark haired woman stepped fully into the room and looked down at the floor in hesitation. "I ran into some old friends at the celebrations last night... They wish to speak with you."

The Dragonborn felt his throat clinch and his heart jump. He already knew who waited outside the room's wooden doors, and he was unsure whether he wished to speak with them ever again or not. They had broken their oaths and his trust, something that was not regained with much ease. Lydia was an exception. He knew of her pure and honorable intentions and of her genuine friendship and care for him. The others had turned him away without a second thought. After a near minute of silence, he finally replied. "Let them in, Lydia."

The housecarl smiled at the man she had sworn to serve for life and opened the doors to let the group inside. The Blades, donned in their Akaviri armor, strode sedately into the room, their heads bowed in either shame or a stubborn pridefulness. Surprisingly, it was Mjoll, not Delphine or Esbern, who spoke up first. "Dragonborn, we have come here to make peace."

Myrddin narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his former friends. "And why is that?"

Mjoll seemed initially taken aback by Dovahkiin's hostility. "After Lydia came to your defense before leaving the Temple to rejoin your side, some of us, Faendal, Kharjo, Aerin, and myself, came to the realization that we swore to not only to slay the dragons that threatened Tamriel but to also serve and protect the Dragonborn.

"We broke our sacred and honorable oath and your trust. And now we beseech your mercy and forgiveness as turn cloaks."

Myrddin pushed his chair back violently, causing the Blades to reflexively flinch, and stepped in front of the Nord woman, looking deep within her eyes. Mjoll tried to hold the Dragonborn's fierce gaze. He then turned to the other three initiates and did the same, his dovah sos- dragon blood relishing the opportunity to strike fear into those who had defied him. "You truly wish to serve under my orders and my orders only?" He asked the four, ignoring the veteran Blades completely.

"Yes, Dragonborn," they exclaimed almost in unison.

Myrddin grinned contently and pulled the four into a tight hug. "Then welcome back, my friends!" He pulled back abruptly, his expression becoming frighteningly serious. "But know, if you ever betray my trust again, my Thu'um will show you no mercy."

They nodded quickly and nervously and sighed as the Dragonborn turned away towards their grandmaster and archivist.

"Leave us," Dovahkiin commanded, and Lydia and the four other Blades initiates knew it was they who had been ordered to leave. They glanced warily at the Dragonborn and two silent Blades as they quietly exited the room.

Once the door shut behind the initiates, Dovahkiin glared at Delphine and Esbern, his blue eyes sparking with his hurt and mistrust. He traced his finger across the table's wooden grains and suppressed the urge to attack those who had betrayed him and threatened to murder his most gentle zeymah- brother Paarthurnax. "Why have _you_ come, Delphine?" He questioned the woman who had once guided him on his quest to defeat Alduin.

Delphine glowered defiantly at the hostile Dragonborn and was about to speak, only to be interrupted by the lore master of their order. "Did you know, Dragonborn," Esbern stated, "that there has not been a single dragon attack in Skyrim since your defeat of Alduin?"

Dovahkiin nodded his head and felt a swell of pride for his brother dov. "I did. And do _you_ know the reason for their passiveness to humans?"

Esbern seemed befuddled by the mortal dovah's response. "Why, I do not..."

"It's because Paarthurnax has taken to the lok- the sky to teach the other dov his philsophy of the Way of the Voice. You were wrong to want his death."

Both Delphine and Esbern appeared genuinely surprised by the Dragonborn's statement. The middle aged Breton woman shook her in defeat. "You may be right, Dragonborn. Perhaps we were wrong to distrust you... and Paarthurnax."

"Yes," Esbern agreed. "You have shown this old man that mercy can lead to blessed events. But that is why you are the Dragonborn, and we are not. I suppose."

Dovahkiin crossed his arms and looked at the Blades sternly. "Does this mean you will also serve my commands and mine alone."

Delphine grimaced before breathing deeply. "We... have realized. That the Old Ways of the Blades are now unable to survive in Tamriel. The Blades are on the verge of dying out, and in order to survive, we must change. Just as the Blades of Reman Cyrodiil's era, our priority is now to our oath to serve and protect the Dragonborn, you."

Myrddin looked at the two critically. "You wish to follow me?"

Esbern nodded. "Yes, Dragonborn, our swords and knowledge are yours to use as you see fit."

"Very well," Dovahkiin nodded and pointed to the stone floor. "Kneel and repeat the oaths that you swore upon first becoming apart of the order. And I will accept your return with open arms."

Delphine briefly glared at the young king before complying, Esbern following behind her with shaky, old knees. The Breton never broke eye contact with the Dragonborn, whose grin was obvious below his composed demeanor. "I do you wish to become a Blade," the mortal dovah asked them.

"I do," the old Blades repeated in unison.

"Are you willing to trade away all claims and titles of your former life? To live here and devote yourself to protecting Tamriel from danger?"

"I do."

"Then by my right as the Dragonborn, blood of Reman Cyrodiil and the Dragon Emperors, I name you a Blade, with all the privileges, rights, and burdens that brings. Godspeed."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes: <strong>So, I originally intended to get a very important, plot-driven scene in this chapter, but I've pushed it to the beginning of next chapter due to this one's already sizable length. I hope there was not too much politics in this one. I was trying to show how much time and effort it is going to take to bring order back to Skyrim after the civil war.

Why is the Dragonborn sensing the world differently than he did before? One, he traveled to the realm of souls while still alive. And two, he was touched and healed by an aedra, a god. That's bound to have some side-effects...

Also, I hope you all understand why Delphine and Esbern were pushed back to the Dragonborn. If it's not clear, please inform me so. And no, Dovahkiin is not directly related to Reman Cyrodiil or the Septims. They simply all share the same blood as "Dragonborn."

Next chapter we'll see the arrival of another country's diplomatic contact.

**Dragon Word of the Day: boziik- **the word is translated both as "bold" and "boldly," showing that one word can be considered both an adjective and an adverb.

I don't mean to beg, but reviews are very much appreciated and can only make the story better.

Thank you for reading!

Gufetto


	5. Chapter 5

Heir to the Stormcrown

Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Elder Scrolls series. And as always, some of the information for this story came from the Elder Scrolls games, wikis, the Imperial Library, and Greg Keyes' books. **

A/N: So, this chapter is a bit shorter than the others but covers very important information for the future plot. One thing that should be distinguished before reading is that General Tullius is **not **an Imperial diplomat. He is a military commander and would not normally get involved with political affairs.

**Anonymous Reviews... and people who forget their passwords :]**

**TheThoudsandthSon: **Thank you for continuing to read and review! Maybe your password will just come to you one day or something. I dunno...

Gratitude to all who have read, reviewed, alerted, and/or favorited! And also to the two cool people who put this story in their communities. Thanks everyone!

Oh, and, **ColleraZorn**, you owe your sister a box of Oreos. Sorry. Great and reasonable guess though! :)

Anyway, please enjoy.

* * *

><p>Signius Duros trudged wearily through the flaming trees that decorated Skyrim's eastern most Hold Eastmarch, clutching his horse's reins tightly in his hand. Skyrim was a land of breathtaking scenery and the most perilous of creatures. A land that was beautiful and wild. But the Imperial man, despite his fascination, had no time to dally and contemplate the mysteries of the province. He had a mission to fulfill. An operation that had started out with five members of the Imperial Legion and government and now was left with only him. Bandits and beasts had long since taken his party from Nirn, leaving Signius alone in his purpose to find the newly crowned High King of Skyrim.<p>

After being sent away from Solitude, a stable hand informing him that the king had supposedly left for the Velothi Mountains to take Morrowind from the Argonian An-Xileel, the Imperial man had left immediately for Skyrim's eastern border. He knew the words of the common people, though often false rumor, always contained a semblance of truth deep within. One just had to dig to find it. He did not have the time to be sucked into a Jarl's court to merely discover one man's location. He was already delayed a week's time.

He hiked up a slope, his chestnut gelding by his side, and as he descended, his boot struck a rock. The slight man's hand slipped from his grasp of the horse's reins, and he tumbled down the hill, cursing as he landed heavily in the leaves below. He was not unaccustomed to such bad fortune. He had come to the conclusion long ago that some were merely born with the favor of the gods, while others, like himself, were born under the stars of misfortune and pain.

Signius spit the remnants of a crushed, orange leaf from his dirt smeared mouth and looked up from his position on the ground. His dark eyes widened at the sight before him but no sound escaped his lips. A great pass within the ancient Velothi Mountains rose before him, cutting through slopes that had never before been passable by man or mer. No man could have possibly created such a wonder.

The soft steps of his loyal stead tore him from the sight. He stood easily and rubbed a hand down the horse's flank. "Not too tired to let me ride you now?" He asked the creature affectionately. "We must make an impressive sight for the High King."

The gelding snorted in reply, and the Imperial man slipped his foot into the saddle's stirrup and lifted himself up. He clicked his tongue and sent the horse into canter, guiding it toward the snow capped peaks of the border between Skyrim and Morrowind. As he neared, an echoing roar from above sent him jumping within his saddle and almost back onto the earth. He looked instinctively upward and had his breath taken by Kynareth once again. A winged creature glided through the clouds, singing a terrifying song of freedom. The Imperial's heart whispered the words that he could not fully understand. _A dragon._

Gossip had spread quickly from Skyrim to Cyrodiil as Imperial legionnaires, either wounded or discharged, had traveled back into the Empire's heartland. They spoke auspiciously of the return of the thought extinct dragons and the Dragonborn, whose very veins flowed with the blood of Akatosh and the glorious Septims. Many, including Signius, thought these words to be simple tall-tales of returning veterans, who wished to boast of glory and adventure. But as he watched the creature swoop down from the realm of Kynareth and landed lithely onto one of the mountain's cliffs, he knew the soldiers had told no lies. Dragons, at least, had returned to Nirn.

The thud of steel striking stone rang through the clearing as he approached, and his horse's hooves began to clop noisily against the very beginnings of a road. As he neared the pass's opening, one of the laborers stepped beside Signius and rudely grabbed his horse's reins in calloused hands. "Can I help you," the man asked with a thick Nordic accent.

Signius was startled by the man's abrupt actions and cleared his throat as he thought of words to speak. "Yes, excuse me. I have traveled all the way from the Imperial City to seek an audience with the High King Myrddin Ysmir. I was informed he would be here. If you would be as so kind as to point me in the proper direction?"

The Nord laborer gave a sneer that displayed his discolored teeth and spat onto the ground in front of Signius. "An Imperial, eh? You're not so welcome in these parts."

The Imperial straightened in his saddle and pulled his horse's reins from the other man's grasp. "Be that as it may, my business is with the King."

The two stared into each others' eyes in a battle for silent dominance, dark brown clashing into pale blue. The Nord man eventually turned away, spitting once again. He pointed towards the gap that sliced through the Velothi's slopes that appeared wide enough to allow three carriages to enter side by side. "The Dragonborn is through there, _little man._"

Signius ignored the man's slight at his nationality and noted briefly that the Nords seemed to use the title of Dragonborn for the man they had proclaimed High King. He wondered whether that myth, like the return of dragons, had also come true. A real Dragonborn in Tamriel again. The thought was almost inconceivable to the Imperial man, who was used to the rule of common men, the Medes.

The pass's walls towered over the man and his horse as they began walking through, casting them in a chilling shadow that covered even the sun. Torches had been drilled into the rock to guide the way, but even they could not relieve the natural foreboding of entering a place that should not exist. He marveled uneasily at the sheer walls that looked as if they had been there since the beginning of creation. But Signius knew better. He knew his history. A trail through the Velothi mountains had never existed in Tamriel's long history. This was a new creation, one that should not have been possible.

A dragon sounded above his head and sent a painful echo and a bolt of fear through the Imperial man. He wanted to turn around and forever leave this strange and foreign land that had been filled with the most deadly creatures in all of Nirn, creatures that had claimed the lives of his former companions. Instead, Signius pushed his instincts aside and spurred his mount forward until they escaped the oppressing presence of encompassing rock and shadow.

He pulled his horse up as he exited out of the pass and onto a circle of stone, gasping at the beauty he had not expected to come upon beyond the mountain's walls. As if a contrast to the snow that drifted ever gently downwards, two waterfalls thundered into the valley, falling into a quiet pool that sat at the base of the ancient fortress. His eyes wandered to the magnificent structure, at its columns carved into the shape of dragons' heads and stone arches that guided travelers up to the actual building. It was a site of masterful architecture and an imposing display of strength.

Signius wondered silently why the High King had come to such a location, and then the title many had given to the young monarch came to him. His rivals and dissenters called him the "Throneless King." Could the High King truly have come to this remote area to claim his throne?

The Imperial dismounted and tied his horse's reins at post where many other steads had been left. He observed a pile of what appeared to be large bones before passing underneath an archway and over a narrow bridge that took him over the pool of water and up into the entrance to the fortress. As he climbed up another set of stairs and through ornate threshold, a young man in a simple gray tunic passed in front of him towards a nearby ledge that overlooked the water. Signius curiously studied the dragon shaped staff and spiked helm within auburn haired man's hands and wondered what he was up to. "Excuse me," the Imperial called politely.

The man, who Signius assumed was a laborer, turned from the ledge to face him. "Aye?"

The Imperial tugged at his robe's sleeve, suddenly uncomfortable at the other man's piercing gaze. "I was wondering as to what you were doing with that fascinating staff."

The laborer smiled and held the silver object in question up to examine it briefly. "This," he replied quietly with a smile before tossing the magical weapon and key to Sovngarde into the depths of water below them.

Signius hurried to the man's side and watched glumly and with a little regret as the staff sank into the unknown. He could not help but think that something magnificent had been lost to the world. He looked to the laborer with a frown. "Why did you do that?"

The man pushed loose curls from his face and replied with a surprising hint of seriousness, "The world is a safer place without that around to threaten it."

"Oh," was the only response Signius could muster, and he mentally kicked himself for his sheepish tone. He looked to the structure at his back. "Why are you all here in this ruin?"

The young man raised his eyebrows and also looked to the fortress. "You have not heard? The High King is making his throne here."

Signius nodded. His assumption proved to be true. It certainly made more sense than the Dragonborn conquering the An-Xileel in Morrowind. "Truly fascinating, but why here? This fortress appears ancient."

"Ah," the laborer replied softly as he sat down on a nearby boulder, placing the charred helm on his knee. "They say, that in the times of the Dragon Cult, this fane, called Skuldafn, was the stronghold of the World-Eater himself, Alduin."

Signius chuckled as he took a seat beside the man. "How fitting. To claim your defeated enemy's palace as your own. But how, in the name of Akatosh, did you cut through the mountains?"

The young man smiled, his eyes squinting slightly. "Ah, that was a predicament, but the Dovahkiin's power of the Voice helped crumble the stone to clear a way."

"But the rock appears as smooth as if it were created by nature... or melded together..."

As the Imperial man spoke these words, a crimson dragon landed gracefully on a column above his head. Signius sprang from his seat and backed away from the creature he naturally assumed wished to devour him. The young stranger laughed loudly and looked up at the silent dragon. "He's not going to eat you," he informed the messenger.

"Mey joor ni dreh hin drog, Dovahkiin," the crimson dragon spoke in a tongue the man could never comprehend.

Signius felt his body quake uncontrollably, and he looked to the laborer, who appeared unfazed by the monster's presence. "It just spoke... A dragon spoke... Do you know what it said? Does it have a name?"

Eyes, the color of the deep sea, stared at him with a spark of amusement. "I think the better question is who are you? You are not one of the masons or laborers that were hired."

The Imperial messenger's face dropped as if he did not understand, and then he shook his head to straighten muddled thoughts. "Forgive me. I am Signius Duros. I have been sent by the Elder Council of the Empire to present a message to the newly crowned High King of Skyrim."

The young man turned his head curiously before furrowing his brow. "And what might that message be?"

"That is between the King and myself." Signius stated with uncommon resoluteness. "And the Elder Council, of course," he added quickly, the twinge of anxiety back in his voice.

The laborer chuckled softly, and the crimson dragon above them joined in. Signius could not help but feel they found some sort of humor in his words, but he was unsure what. "What, might I ask, is so amusing?"

The auburn haired man shook his head. "Nothing," he replied. "There was nothing wrong with what you said. It was a good answer."

"Then why do you-" Signius cut himself off and looked between the perched dragon and smiling young man. Realization smacked him across both cheeks. The Dragonborn."Oh..." he trailed off again. _The Dragonborn._ "Oh! Your Grace, forgive my ignorance! I had expected the High King of Skyrim to have seen more winters!"

The Dragonborn gave the messenger a gentle smile and patted beside him. "It's alright. Please, come sit and tell me why the Empire has ordered you so far north."

Signius looked to the space the king offered at his side and felt an uncommon ease with the young monarch. He was accustomed to the conventional aloofness of the nobility, but then he remembered that this man, this boy was a simple son of a High Rock shepherd. The gods must have been mocking all the pricks of "noble" blood, who thought themselves higher than all other mortals.

The Imperial man obeyed the monarch's generous command and then rummaged through the leather bag he kept strapped across his shoulder and chest. He pulled out a rolled parchment and popped the seal of wax, pressed with the signet of the Elder Council, with his thumb. Signius unfurled the document before looking up at the crimson dragon, who somehow appeared entertained, and then at the High King. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and began to read aloud:

"By the authority of the lawful and just Elder Council of the Mede Empire,

we most graciously and humbly request the attendance of one Myrddin Ysmir, High King of Skyrim, to the coronation of one Trajan Mede I, grandson of the tragically passed Titus Mede II, son of the late Crown Prince, blessed of the people, friend to Skyrim, and rightful heir to the throne.

We do so require your presence in the court of this Imperial City by Morndas, First Day of Morning Star and the 202th year of the Fourth Era on the Festival of New Life to witness and pay allegiance to your legitimate Emperor and sovereign.

Gods bless the Emperor and this Council."

Signius looked to the young ruler the Council commanded to the capital of the Empire. The king scratched his smooth chin, his brow furrowed in thought. The dragon above their heads snorted and took to the sky, stating something that sounded like a curse as he departed. The Imperial man sighed, dreading having to be the one to announce such an obvious threat to the new monarch. "Your Highness-"

"Call me Myrddin," the Dragonborn interrupted. "That is the name my mother gave to me. Call me by it."

Signius had never heard of a noble wishing those lower than them to not address them by title. He supposed, though, that that was the difference between a true nobleman and one forced into the position. "Of course... Myrddin. The Elder Council and the Empire wish for you to come to the Imperial City not only to witness the crowning of the new Emperor, but to also assure that your allegiance lies with the Empire and not with those rebels, who so recently committed an unholy crime against the Empire and, therefore, the gods themselves.

"They have also appointed me as your Imperial liaison to guide and inform you of Imperial customs and politics as you travel through Cyrodiil and the Imperial City. I hope this is satisfactory to Your...you, Myrddin."

The Dragonborn sighed wearily. "Yes, it is fine. Though..." he paused and pondered his words before speaking. "I thought Titus Mede II's grandson and heir was named Attrebus, after the great Mede Emperor."

Signius nodded. "Ah, yes. With the war in Skyrim and whatnot, news has been rather slow in arriving. There was a scandal in the Imperial City recently as the Crown Prince Attrebus was charged with treason and the assassination of the late Titus Mede II. It is said that he was the one who commissioned the heinous murder of the Emperor while he traveled here to Skyrim to attend his cousin's funeral. A perfect cover story really. Blame it on a Stormcloak, and the issue would have been easily solved."

Myrddin crossed his arms and stared across the naturally walled valley. "Why was this not thought to be the case?"

"One of the Prince's servants found a contract within his cloak. A contract with the Dark Brotherhood! All had thought them destroyed! None the less, the Elder Council sent the Penitus Oculatus to arrest the Prince at once. Unfortunately, the villain escaped before they could detain him, and no one has a inkling where he has fled to.

"And now, his younger brother and a more worthy heir, Trajan the First will take his seat upon the Imperial throne. We all pray he can bring peace between the Empire, its provinces, and the Aldmeri Dominion."

The Dragonborn studied the Imperial official's cheerful smile before hesitantly responding. The whole ordeal seemed rather convenient to the mortal dovah. "That... truly is tragic news. My sincerest condolences to the Mede family for the loss of an Emperor and a Prince."

"Indeed. Now, Your... Myrddin. We must prepare for our departure. I regret that my arrival was delayed several days, and the date of the coronation is a mere week from this date. We must leave today or early tomorrow if we hope to arrive in the Imperial city in time for the coronation."

The king nodded and stood slowly, taking the time to stretch his limbs. "We'll get going then. Come, I need to gather the guard."

Signius followed slightly beside the young man, taking note of all that he could of his peaceful surroundings. They walked through a large courtyard, flanked by a tower, and passed laborers piling shriveled bodies and guards adorned with a dark gray sash over their chain mail and padded tunics. The two hurried up another flight of stairs, and the Dragonborn suddenly paused, looking into the fortress's ramparts. "Faendal," he called. "Faendal!"

A slender man, who appeared to be a Bosmer, paused above them. "Yes, Myrddin? What do you need?"

"Gather everyone within the Entrance Hall. I have important news."

"I'm on it."

The Bosmer disappeared from view and Myrddin motioned the Imperial to follow. The Dragonborn led Signius through piles of rubble and remnants of towers before they finally traveled up to an ornately forged door that led into the fortress Myrddin had called Skuldafn. The King pushed the door in and smoothed snow flurries from his hair as he entered the palace. Signius paused as he trailed the younger man inside and wondered how many more surprises the location would push at him.

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><p>A great hall opened before them, its ceilings arched with stone and its wall adorned with yet more dragon carvings. Two banners hung above the two diverging paths from the Entrance Hall, decorated with a crimson and black dragon, both twisting and snapping upwards to an unknown destination. Signius recognized this as the High King's new sigil and briefly contemplated whether the crimson dragon he had met earlier was the one upon the banner.<p>

His thoughts were interrupted by a group that entered through on of the palace's passages, wearing armor that the Imperial had only witnessed in now banned history books. "Akaviri armor?" He whispered under his breath. "Blades... Blades?" Signius looked up at the Dragonborn with surprise and concern. "The Blades serve you as they once did the Septims?"

Myrddin simply nodded and looked to his friends, who also served as his bodyguards.

The Imperial liaison shook his head. "The Thalmor have declared the Blades an illegal and radical organization. They have been outlawed within Cyrodiil and all of its provinces. You are committing treason by harboring them here."

The Dragonborn turned to the Imperial with a glare that caused the man to cower instinctively and grab at the hilt of his dagger. "Did I ever say they were members of the Blades?" The High King asked, his Thu'um shaking the earth in his anger. "The Blades are extinct. These," he motioned to the group, "are my bodyguards, who will wear the traditional armor of a Skyrim guard when traveling with me."

A middle aged woman, who appeared to be a Breton, smirked terrifyingly at the Imperial official, and Signius sighed. "Yes, I apologize for my rash assumption, sire. Please prepare what you must so that we can depart promptly." With that, the Imperial man stepped back, almost pressing himself against the palace's doors, and let Myrddin speak to his guard.

Dovahkiin glanced warily at the liaison before approaching the members of the Blades, who looked at him with a mixture of distrust and amusement. Delphine had crossed her arms and glared at the young man. "What is this all about, Myrddin?" She asked impatiently, the others nodding in agreement.

"I've been summoned by the Elder Council," the monarch replied quietly.

"The Elder Council?" Lydia's expression portrayed her confusion. "But why would they wish to summon you? You've done nothing but bring peace back between Skyrim and the Empire."

"I believe," Esbern spoke up, "that they intend to assure themselves of his allegiance. It must have been very disturbing news to discover that the Dragonborn has returned."

Myrddin's eyes widened. He had not thought of it that way. What if they thought he planned to take over the Empire just because he was blessed with the blood of Akatosh, the same as the Emperor Tiber Septim. "That makes sense..."

"Indeed," the old Blade continued. "You must be cautious when arriving in the heart of the Empire, but it would be far more grave for you and Skyrim if you not appear as summoned."

"When do we leave then?" Delphine questioned, her eyes flashing with excitement and determination.

Dovahkiin shook his head, wary of the grandmaster's reaction. "_You're _not going. I cannot risk the Thalmor recognizing you or Esbern. I want you to stay with Kharjo, Aerin, and Esbern to guard Sky Haven Temple and begin working towards returning the Blades to their former glory."

"No!" The Breton woman exclaimed. "I know we've had our differences lately, Myrddin, and I know I've been being stubborn in accepting your authority. But I swore an oath to protect you, and I will _not _forsake that duty ever again."

Hazel and blue eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between the Dragonborn and the Blade. "Very well. Mjoll, I'm leaving you in charge then. Look after the old man and keep everyone safe. Also, bring Brunwulf Free-Winter here to oversee the rest of the renovations."

The blonde Nord smiled broadly and embraced the young man, causing Aerin to sigh quietly. "Aye, Myrddin. I will do my best. Return soon and tell us of your adventures in the Imperial City."

The High King turned to Delphine, Faendal, and Lydia, who would be joining him on what was surely going to turn into a treacherous journey of violence and politics. "Let's get going then."

As Dovahkiin led the group of Blades and the Imperial liaison from Skuldafn, dov sailed through the skies above, arriving to witness their mortal brother claim what was rightfully his through conquest of their former tyrant Alduin. The foreign diplomat gasped as the dragons swept just over the Dragonborn's head, all exclaiming into the realm of Kynareth, "Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid! Mu los vamir!"

It was at this moment, while tracing the many colored sons of Akatosh through the clouds, that Signius Duros knew, without uncertainty, that Myrddin Ysmir was a true Dragonborn, the equal of Tiber Septim himself.

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><p><strong>Chapter Notes:<strong> Well, this chapter shows kind of the direction the Empire has taken, and the Dark Brotherhood has proven they are alive and well! Woo? Maybe?

Be sure to pay attention to what people actually are saying, not just their words. Lots of subtlety going around. Especially in the Empire's case. Just wait until those damn Thalmor come in. They're going to be a pain to write...

Next chapter heads into Cyrodiil. Gotta pull out my Oblivion disc.

**Dragon Word(s) of the Day (More like week, I guess.): **they're are approximately 7 words in the Dragon Language that start with **"aa-."** They are **aak- guide, aal- may, aam- hmm?, aan- a/an, aar- servant, aav- join, **and **aaz- mercy.**

Please leave a review and tell me how the chapter is. Not so sure myself...

Thank you for reading,

Gufetto


	6. Chapter 6

VI

Heir to the Stormcrown

Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**AN: **A review shortly after I first posted this chapter made me realize I was very wrong on a plot device in this chapter. It was bad, and this is why people should not publish chapters when their brains are fried from working on multiple papers. I blame the teachers.

So, I boxed for a little while to clear my thoughts, accidentally tore up my knuckles, used a frozen bean burrito as an ice pack, and rewrote the ending. Why? Because it just did not work and was in there for no reason at all. This makes the chapter a few pages shorter and with far less action, but it's for the best. I jumped the gun, and really, things need to happen before any killin' gets done.

Thank you **Lord Raine** for making me see the error of my overactive, often random imagination. It must be reined in sometimes.

**Anonymous Reviews:**

**Solomon Vazquez:** Thank you for reading and reviewing! If you ever have any criticism, feel free to share it with me. :)

Also, thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, alerted, and/or favorited.

Please enjoy.

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><p><em>A humid breeze whistled in the night air, cutting through the silence that had fallen upon the island city. Its great walls and even greater tower stood quiet, daring to reach upward towards the realm of Aetherius, the realm of the gods. A lone figure, head concealed in a winged helm, waited at the base of the fortress' walls, gauntleted fists clenched and stance wide. He gazed upward into the ramparts of the walls, studying the golden armor that dotted through the stone, standing still, drawing no bows nor casting any spells. <em>

_ The man below spread his arms wide as if to invite an assault. He tilted his head up towards the many stars, the great moon Masser casting an ominous red glow on the steel helm. "Umaril!" He bellowed into the heavens, his Voice echoing across the lake and rolling into the distant swamps and mangroves. "Umaril! Come face me as promised!"_

_ The night fell still as the man's shouts faded away. The golden sentries upon the wall clanked as they shifted uncomfortably. The man snarled deep from his chest when no answer came to his summons. He jerked his mace from his belt and lifted it high into the air alongside his kite shield. "Umaril, you great featherless fowl! I, Pelinal Whitestrake, Divine Crusader and Champion of Queen Alessia, answer your challenge to single combat!"_

_ When yet no reply came from within, the Crusader roared, shaking the world around him. "Craven! Slip free of the arms of your beloved Daedric lords and meet me in honorable battle!"_

_ Silence followed the man's scornful call. No swords were unsheathed in the Ayleid lord's defense, no arrows shot. The Crusader growled again and then laughed manically before he inhaled sharply. If his enemies would not meet him willingly, then he would go to them. "Fus Ro Dah!"_

_ The Thu'um swept forward and crashed into the high, stone walls that surrounded the great tower. The structure rocked dangerously, sending some golden soldiers from its heights and into the hard ground. The Crusader's laughter rang through the panicked air as white stone slipped from its upward climb, slicing a breach in the once sturdy defenses. _

_ The man advanced forward his mace and shield readied, humming a light tune as he went. He kicked his steel boot against one the fallen guard's shattered head, reveling in the unholy, black blood that seeped from underneath its helm. The Ayleids and their Daedric lords, he would show them once and for all that it was the Aedra who truly ruled Mundus. He twirled his mace within his hand as he entered into the Ayleid stronghold, snorting at the horde of Aurorans that waited within the walls, prepared to bring the Whitestrake down._

_ The Crusader paused slightly in front of the Daedric warriors of Meridia, false lord of life and energy, and studied the army that awaited before the entrance to the tower. The tower that would lead him to the Half-elf Umaril. _

_ As suddenly as he had halted, the man charged forward with a chilling battle-cry, no allies by his side. His mace smashed crushingly into the temple of his first kill as he collided with the wave of Daedra, spraying the air with blood and cries. He twisted easily with power, sending his shield in the opposite direction and into the bodies of his enemies. The Crusader seemed to sweep away the blows that sliced and seared into his body, swinging erratically into the horde, his actions unachievable for an average mortal. He was a tool of the gods, bringing blood and vengeance to those who deserved it._

_ His laughter echoed throughout the Nibenese Valley, and a song rang off the walls of the Ayleid's blasphemous White Gold Tower. "Our hero, our hero claims a warrior's heart," the man sang loudly while he swung his mace into flesh and bone._

_ "I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes!" A golden sword sailed through his right fingers, sending his mace flying to an unknown location._

_ "With a Voice-wielding power of the Ancient Gods' art! Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes!" He grabbed hold of the Daedra's helm with his bloodied stumps for fingers, harshly slamming the bottom of his shield at the exposed flesh between the helmet and cuirass. The blow crunched into the creature's throat, and it fell down into the growing pile of the slain. _

_ "It's an end to the evil of all of Man's foes! Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes!" He unsheathed his blade swiftly, slicing easily through the armor of the surrounding Aurorans. _

_ "For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows! You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn comes!" The Crusader grunted as a blade lodged into his shoulder, cutting past his armor._

_ "Reman will conquer, and Talos will rule! The Last will prove us all the fools! Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes!" _

_ He twisted his body downward, sailing his blade cleanly through his last foe's neck. Its severed head swirled through the air and then rolled across the blood painted ground, sending the mad Crusader into rounds of blaring, frenzied laughter. He flicked his blade sharply, flinging the black blood of his Daedric enemies across their own bodies, and he looked up into the heights of the White Gold Tower, knowing in his heart that Umaril awaited above, most likely looking down on him as he slaughtered the Ayleid lord's army. _

_ The Whitestrake pointed up at the tower, shouting, "I'm coming for you, Umaril!"_

_ He stumbled forward, the weight of his many injuries falling upon him, but he did not pause as he pushed the tower's gates in. He sliced through the guards that waited just inside and hurried up the structure's winding stairs, his blade falling upon any Daedra or elf that stood in his way to Umaril. No enemy would escape from his divine fury. _

_ The Crusader threw open the iron doors at the end of the trail up the tower, panting from the exertion of moving with such grave wounds. He snarled wildly as a smooth voice spoke before him. "So you claim more titles for yourself," a tall figure in armor similar to that of the Aurorans observed, flanked by Ayleid lords and sorcerers that trembled uncontrollably at the presence of the terrifyingly powerful Crusader. Many an Ayleid and mer had fallen beneath his blade. "Is being named the champion of the false gods and that slave whore of a queen not mighty enough for you, madman?" The figure asked mockingly. "You must call yourself the Dragonborn now?"_

_ "Fool," the Crusader spat venomously, blood seeping from his cracked lips. "I am not the Dragonborn. But you will not know when he comes, for I will vanquish thee here this very night."_

_ The golden armored figure laughed harshly as he unsheathed his claymore and tossed it lightly from one hand to the other. "You will try, and you will fail," he responded. "I will prove once and for all that my Daedric Princes are the true gods and that mer are the rightful and superior rulers of Tamriel. Come, Crusader of false gods and harlots, I, Umaril the Unfeathered, Champion of Meridia, challenge you to single combat to the death."_

_ The only man in the tower roared powerfully, his Voice shaking the stones beneath their feet and sending the Ayleid lords cowering from his reach, and he charged forward, crashing his blade resoundingly against that of Umaril's. The clash of metal rang through the night breeze, and both warriors pressed into the assault in a harsh battle of strength and attrition. The Crusader grunted at the fire that seared through his wounds and pulled swiftly back from the attack. _

_ Through the haze of divine fury and boiling blood, he knew that his chances of defeating the coward, who had waited like a spider for his prey to be wounded and weak, were low. He ducked past a surprisingly graceful sweep of the golden claymore, twisting his body into a counter-attack that sent the Ayleid stumbling backward. The Crusader pressed forward, bashing out with his shield. _

_ Umaril countered easily as he stepped back, swinging his sword into the coming shield. He barked a condescending laugh as the Crusader's arm flew behind his body and gave out an audible crack. The man, ignoring the newly limp arm at his side, collided blades with the Daedric servant once more. _

_ Metal sparked as the two blades met, and Umaril pushed his weight forward, bringing pressure down upon the bleeding stubs the Crusader grasped his sword with. The man's grip slipped on the crimson liquid running down his hilt, his sword pulling downward. The Whitestrake kicked out desperately with his left foot, catching the Ayleid king by surprise. As the damnable elf staggered back, the Crusader swung his blade into Umaril's undefended side, lodging it deep into the flesh that lay beneath the elf's golden armor. _

_ Umaril howled in pain and rage as the weak human dug the blessed sword, forged by Arkay, the god of life and death, further into his torn side, cutting through bone and organ, and blood, the unnatural black of that of the Daedric Aurorans, flowed from the mortal wound. _

_ "So you made an irreversible covenant with your precious Daedric lord," the Crusader observed, voice rasping and cracked. "Enjoy your eternity in the cursed realm of your rulers!"_

_ With those words, Pelinal Whitestrake pushed his sword in farther before pulling back abruptly, black blood flying from the gaping wound and staining the entire tower with its unholy paint. Umaril, Ayleid king and servant of Meridia, shouted in despair as he fell to his knees, no Thu'um capable of ever leaving his lips. A mere man, an insane mortal of the false gods had defeated him and his Daedric allies, but as his black eyes looked unseeingly into the stars, he knew in his soul that his spirit would return to Nirn once more to resume the rightful conquest of his people and true gods. The Whitestrake and his beloved Aedra had ultimately failed._

_ The Divine Crusader panted and clutched a wound that sliced through his shoulder and down past his ribcage. He felt numb as his life blood spilled and mixed with that of his final nemesis and laughed as the remaining Ayleid lords, who once trembled at his very presence, advanced upon him, their blades drawn in firm grips. "Very well, cowards," he nodded his winged helm. "My end has come."_

_ He could not feel the searing agony as numerous blades sliced into his already battered flesh. Like his foes before him, he fell to the ground, his gaze blurring into nothingness and his breath choking on his own life. He could hear the distant echo of a mighty battle horn, and he knew that Morihaus, the army of their queen behind him, had decided to finally come to his aid._

_ The Crusader shuddered a breath, and his world faded once more. He was not sure how much time Akatosh had allowed to pass, but the thud of steel boots stomping hastily upon stone, forced his eyes to open heavily. _

_ "I have arrived too late," a deep voice whispered near his side._

_ Hands slipped beneath his limp and mutilated body, turning him so he could look upward into the fading stars as Magnus peaked reticently over the horizon. "Morihaus," the Crusader greeted with a gurgle of blood trickling from his opened throat. "You have come." He looked up into the deep blue eyes of the general and son of Kyne, their depths filled with an anguish that was incomprehensible to the dying Crusader and prophet._

_ "I have betrayed you," the man replied miserably with a sob. "I should have agreed to the siege, but Alessia..."_

_ "Do not feel guilt where it is not needed, cousin. I now go as the gods command, as do we all in the end. But beware, Morihaus, beware! With the foresight of death I know now that my foe yet lives, bitter knowledge to take to my grave. Better that I had died believing myself the victor. Although cast beyond the doors of night, he will return. Be vigilant! I can no longer shield the host of Men from Umaril's retribution." _

_ As the Crusader's words faded, his body fell still in the grasp of his loyal comrade, and he was with mortals no longer. His quest to bring peace to the creation of Lorkhan and Kynareth and the many other gods had not been fulfilled, but as his being swept through realms unknown, he knew that his sword would one day, along the eternal waves of Akatosh's realm, be taken up once more._

* * *

><p>A cloud of mist flew upward as Myrddin woke with a start, trembling uncontrollably and his breath ragged. His body burnt with wounds that were not there, and he felt as if he, not Pelinal Whitestrake, had battled an army of Daedra and Ayleids. He pulled his fur blankets closer around himself and looked through the crumbled roof of the abandoned tavern they had taken shelter in for the night, gazing up at the eternal stars that remained constant throughout the flow of time. The same specks of light the Divine Crusader had looked upon as he gave a final shuddering breath.<p>

As his right fingers throbbed painfully, the Dragonborn knew that he had had no mere dream before. He had heard, felt through his vision the Thu'um of yet another ancient hero. It was not a sensation that could be ignored or forgotten. Pelinal Whitestrake, the Divine Crusader and the man legend named the Avatar of Shor.

Myrddin sighed and pressed a hand to his tired eyes. He did not want to dwell on such things. He did not wish to think of the consequences of his necessary journey to Sovngarde. He wanted sleep, but as his heart beat anxiously against his chest, he knew that sleep, like so many nights before, would not sweep him into peaceful nothingness.

The wooden floors of the nearly collapsed tavern creaked as the young man stood, throwing his fur lined cloak about his shoulders and not bothering to slip his boots back on his chilled feet. He shuffled as quietly as he could past the sleeping members of the small party that were accompanying him to the Imperial City, wincing with each groan the floor boards made underneath his weight. He was not a man with skills of stealth. Nocturnal be damned.

He cursed silently as his toe collided with an object, rolling the item across the building with a ring. Myrddin stumbled after the object before it crashed into the broken walls and picked it up carefully. It was a bottle. Memories of his first days in Skyrim flooded his senses. Waking as a bump in the road jostled the wagon, his head pounding and his belongings stripped from him. A blonde Nord, only a few summers older than himself, greeting him warmly as his vision sharpened to an unfamiliar land. The curses and prayers of a cowardly horse thief as they entered a village called Helgen. Helgen, where Ralof had been sweet on a girl, and a man named Vilod brewed a special kind of mead with juniper berries.

_Krosis_. Dovahkiin clutched the bottle tightly in his fist. He had seen the deaths of so many from the quiet village that had almost claimed his life. Cries of anguish in the fires of Alduin's Thu'um, pleas for mercy, and messages for loved ones never to be seen again.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and exited into the frozen air of Skyrim that burnt against one's throat if they breathed too deeply, sitting down slowly by his companion, who was holding vigil while the others slept. Myrddin looked to the position of the moons curiously. "Should it not be Faendal's watch by now, Lydia?" He asked, while uncorking the bottle in his hand and taking a sip.

The Nord woman gave the Dragonborn a sidelong glance, not bothering to turn to him completely. "Sleep will not come to me anytime soon," she replied. "Best let the others rest while I cannot."

Myrddin nodded. "A wise decision. Do you want some?" He offered the Blade the bottle of mead he had been drinking from.

Lydia studied the drink with sharp eyes. "What is it?"

"Special mead. There will be none like it left soon," he informed her cryptically.

The housecarl accepted the mead slowly. "And why is that?"

Dovahkiin looked out into the ruins of the formerly peaceful village, where rubble had once been wall and ash had once been home. "The brewer died... here."

The woman at his side hummed in acknowledgment. "Alduin."

"Aye." Myrddin responded quietly, looking to where his neck had once laid against wood, waiting for the ax-man's blade to fall, where Alduin had unknowingly spared his life from an unjust and useless execution. He had repaid his debt by hacking an ax into his eldest zeymah's head. Dovahkiin growled underneath his breath, attempting to push his guilt aside. The survival of Tamriel was more essential than his own brand of honor. The world may have been an egg, but it was an egg worth saving.

"You should not let such regrets trouble your mind," the Nord woman's voice cut into his thoughts as if reading them. "Alduin is defeated, and Tamriel is safe from his wrath once more."

Myrddin grunted. "Strange advice from a woman who is denied sleep because of such thoughts."

Lydia glared into the man's blue eyes. "That is not the same," she stated. "You worry yourself over events long past. _I_ lack sleep over current affairs."

The Dragonborn wrapped his arms around his knees. "What current affairs?"

"Do not try to play the innocent fool with me, Myrddin," the Blade ordered her charge. "I know you are aware of the dangers that await within the capital of the Empire. The murder of Titus Mede II and then the accusations of treason on his heir reek of the Thalmor's bidding.

"They will not have taken kindly to another Dragonborn appearing in the world they believe should be dominated by mer as in the times of old. _They _are the ones who have placed Trajan Mede upon the Imperial Throne instead of his older brother and sister. _They _are the ones who will try to bring you to heel or death.

"I fear this journey will not end well. I fear we... I will never see these beautifully untamed lands again."

Myrddin pressed his cheek against his knees and studied the solemn Blade. "Aye, you probably speak truth. But," he looked back up into the stars, "if there was one person I would trust fully with my life, it would be you. I hope you feel the same."

* * *

><p>They had left the crumbling village at first light, and Myrddin looked back at the ruined stone and charred wood with a sinking within his heart. He would have to rebuild it one day if he ever made it back to Skyrim. He patted his dappled gray mare affectionately and spurred it into a brisk trot to catch up with the others, settling comfortably in between Lydia and Faendal.<p>

"I still do not understand why we could not have traveled south from your palace, Your Grace," Signius Duros complained from ahead. "This... this little detour east has caused us a two day delay."

The Dragonborn sighed, his breath clouding in the morning air. He did not want to explain the significance there was in exiting Skyrim from the same path he had entered through. To leave a free man from where he was once apprehended and almost murdered in the name of the Empire. The Empire he was now traveling to meet. "Yes, but this path will take us through the Pale Pass and down the Silver Road, which leads directly to the Imperial City."

"The Pale Pass is dangerous," the Imperial official complained.

"Do not fret, Duros," Myrddin replied lightly. "I'm sure we can protect you from the terrifying monsters that lie within the mountains."

Lydia snorted quietly and whispered under her breath, "Don't count on it."

Dovahkiin nudged her on the shoulder in stern reproval but could not conceal the slight grin that spread across his face. Signius Duros, on the other hand, huffed in offense. "I heard that, Nord! I am an Imperial official, who-"

"Quiet," Delphine barked from the head of the group. "The border approaches."

Myrddin looked up past the edge of their climb into the Jerall Mountains, noticing the roof of a sentry post rising at the crest of the snow covered slope. He reined his horse forward until he traveled ahead of his guard and the Imperial liaison. "Raise the banners," he ordered Lydia and Faendal, who had poles strapped to the sides of their mounts.

Their horses snorted as the two banners twisted up into the air above them, flapping harshly in the mountain wind. Myrddin sighed deeply before placing his helm over his head, attempting to look commanding in his hastily patched dragon scale armor. He could see a squad of Imperial soldiers stationed on both sides of the threshold that marked the boundary between Skyrim and Cyrodiil.

"Halt," one of the soldiers commanded from afar. "What is your business at the border?"

Signius Duros rode up beside him, staring indignantly at the Imperial legionnaire. "Do you not recognize the colors of the High King of Skyrim, fool?"

The Dragonborn held his hand up to stop the Imperial official from speaking further before turning to the Imperial guard, whose comrades had also knelt to the frozen earth. "Please, rise. We simply seek passage into Cyrodiil to attend the coronation of Emperor Trajan."

"With such a small party, Your Highness," the soldier in front of him questioned with concern. "The Pale Pass is a treacherous path, full of bandits and frightful creatures."

"I assure you," Myrddin responded confidently. "We," he motioned to the three Blades, who disguised themselves in the chain mail and sash of a traditional Nord guard, "have all faced worse than thieves and wolves."

"I... Of course. They say you are Dragonborn." The legionnaire stumped his foot deliberately against the snow. "Please pass, Your Highness, and may Kynareth guide you safely to the Imperial City."

"Thank you, sir," the king replied as he spurred his horse forward. "And gods bless."

He glanced at the other soldiers as he rode by. They appeared tired and hungry in their torn light armor, their faces covered in dirt and eyes darkened from lack of sleep. The soldiers looked exhausted and overworked, but Myrddin could sense their optimism and hope. Happiness that was surely brought about by the end of Skyrim's bloody civil war of attrition. Neither side would have bent to the other for many more months if the fighting had not ceased.

He pulled up on his horse's reins to bring it to a halt as a familiar brown head and broad shoulders appeared on top of the border's gateway. "Hadvar!" He called, genuinely glad to see the honorable Nord alive and well.

The legionnaire's head popped over the railing of the walkway. "Dragonborn... I mean, my liege. What brings you so far south?"

"Going down into Cyrodiil. Official business."

Hadvar rubbed his chin and hummed. "The Imperial coronation."

"Exactly," Myrddin replied. "We passed through Riverwood on our way here," he informed the slightly older man. "Ran into a guard that would like to talk to you. Make up for past wrongs."

The Nord soldier's face fell significantly. "How is my old friend?"

The Dragonborn smiled kindly. "Fine. Enjoying mead at the local tavern and chasing an Imperial girl, who already has two admirers." He laughed when Faendal grunted disdainfully behind him.

"I'll be sure to go check up on him when I have leave to visit my family," Hadvar replied quietly, his expression and tone sullen.

Myrddin nodded in understanding and began to move forward into Cyrodiil, calling back, "And be sure to message your commander to garrison Helgen. It was full of bandits when we traveled through."

"Yes, sir!" The legionnaire's shout echoed off the mountains' high slopes and through their hollowed valleys, his thoughts no doubt returning to the fateful day that the Dragonborn was almost beheaded, and they had all almost died.

* * *

><p>The Dragonborn, Blades, and single Imperial official traveled swiftly through the winding trails of the Pale Pass, cutting down any resistance that stood in their way. Bandits in furs, feral wolves, and the occasional frostbite spider fell to their swords and bows, except for one, who pleaded with trembling voice for mercy. Mercy that only Dovahkiin had been willing to give him.<p>

As the sun slipped behind the horizon, the travelers looked from the Jerall's summit at the vast expanse of Cyrodiil that rolled into the distance. Mountain descended into valley, and vale fell into field, and grassland unfurled into marshland. Cyrodiil was a land like the ancient layers of soil that transformed the deeper you dug, no layer being completely like the one above it.

Delphine was the first to turn from the breathtaking view, her face set in a familiar grimace. She tied her horse's reins to a nearby tree, tugging to make sure her knot was firm. "We should set up camp here for the night," she informed the others. "Can't risk slipping on invisible ice with only the light of the moons to guide us down to Bruma."

"I believe that is a wise decision," Signius Duros agreed with the woman he did not know to be a Blade. "Have you ever been to Cyrodiil, Your Grace?"

Myrddin looked up from gathering firewood for the night. "I thought I told you to call me by my name, Duros."

"My apologies, Your... Myrddin. I am not accustomed to one of your standing not wishing to be called by their titles..."

The Dragonborn nodded silently, placing another branch onto the growing pile in his arms. "I have been to Cyrodiil," he answered the dignitary's question softly. "Never saw much besides the coast and Bruma though."

The Imperial looked curiously at the High King. "Oh, were you once a sailing man, then?"

"Aye."

"So, what was your favorite city out of those you have traveled to."

Myrddin scratched his head as he took a seat beside Lydia and cast a quick flame spell on the frozen wood he had gathered. The logs crackled as the fire licked hungrily against them. "I would have to say Bruma."

"It is the most like Skyrim," Duros observed with a sniff.

"It's also the most peaceful," the young man rebutted with a growl towards the infuriating liaison.

"Yes, the city's Nords are rather quiet compared-"

"Compared to what?" The only full Nord interrupted, pointing her finger at the Imperial.

Duros' dark eyes widened as his was met with the cold stares of three bodyguards and the Dragonborn himself. "I... I only meant that their culture differs slightly from the peoples of Skyrim. Nothing more."

The Blades' Breton leader scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "What else were the people of Bruma to do after the Thalmor took control of Cloud Ruler Temple?"

"Cloud Ruler Temple?" The diplomat asked, his tone rising with curiosity. "Was that not once the stronghold of the Blades?"

Delphine narrowed her eyes at the man but nodded as Myrddin gave her a warning glance. "So history tells us..."

Duros leaned forward, resting his hands on his crossed legs, and smiled. "Yes, the Blades are a thing of the past, but I must respect the tenacity and determination they showed at their final battle. I heard that only one Blade managed to survive the assault."

"They served the Empire well once," Dovahkiin responded before any of the Blades.

"Yes, it is unfortunate that they later refused to serve the Emperors as they once did the Septims," the Imperial replied with a shake of his head. "I suppose the honor of all orders fades with time."

All three Blades sat up, their spines straightened and their eyes cold. Myrddin rested his hands against Lydia and Delphine's arms to attempt to calm them and spoke, "The sun has faded. We should all get some rest before tomorrow. It should only take us a couple of hours to descend from the mountains in the morning light. Faendal," he turned to his housecarl, "will you take the first watch?"

As the Bosmer nodded slowly, the others fell into a tense silence while they wrapped themselves in their furs and drifted off into slumber.

* * *

><p>The morning sun brought little warmth against the crisp, mountain wind that chilled to the bone, and Myrddin shivered, pulling his cloak tighter about himself, as he stamped out the smoldering logs that had brought them warmth and protection the night before. He yawned tiredly and rubbed at his burning, heavy eyes. Sleep had once again brought no respite from the world.<p>

"Are you coming, Myrddin," he could hear the Blades Grand Master partially ask and completely demand.

Dovahkiin grinned crookedly as Signius Duros gasped as if personally scandalized by the Breton's disrespect for her king. "You speak to your king with such discourtesy-"

"I'm coming," the Dragonborn grumbled, cutting off the Imperial man before he started yet another argument with all three Blades.

He pulled himself easily into his horse's saddle and motioned Delphine to lead their way down from the Jerall Mountains. Their horses snorted nervously as they descended a steep, winding slope, bordered on one side by frozen rock and on the other by a sharp drop to an untimely demise. They stepped carefully along the path that was concealed underneath snow and ice, their bodies tensed to the knowledge that one misstep could lead to grave consequences.

Myrddin patted his mare reassuringly to attempt to ease its anxiety, but he too sighed in relief as ancient pines rose up on either side of them. They had reached level ground and made it safely out of the Pale Pass.

Dovahkiin paused briefly on the trail, studying a group of stones that looked eerily like the foot of an actual dovah, but shook his head to follow the others past the final slopes of the Jeralls that led out into a frozen plain, where dozens of derelict shacks and square, barren plots dotted the tundra.

Myrddin had seen these impoverished tenants during his first visit to Bruma right before he had traveled north into Skyrim. Refugees of the civil war that had plagued the northern province. But as he looked about at the men and women in rags, who attempted to break into frozen ground with blunted hoes and hand-drawn plows, he knew that more had crossed south into Cyrodiil, no doubt to avoid the ever craving flames of war and dov.

The refugees paused in their actions as the party passed with banners raised, four dov twisting and snarling above their unkempt heads, and Myrddin could feel their desperate eyes upon him, studying the strangely spiked armor he wore. He wished he could throw them a few pieces of gold, but their despairing faces and thin frames told him that such an action, though well intentioned, would bring more harm than good.

The silent stone walls of Bruma rose at the edge between tundra and mountain, towering over the freezing souls, who could not afford to live within their walls. The dark walls, soldiers with yellow cloth covering their mail dotting the ramparts, were an imposing sight, but the shadow of a fort, nestled high above in the Jeralls, cast an even greater shadow on the humans who dwelt at the mountains' base.

Myrddin gazed up, eyes squinting in the light of the sun, at the distant fortress, its ceilings sloped in the Akaviri style that decorated Sky Haven Temple in Skyrim, its steep walls covered in the black and gold banners of the Aldmeri Dominion, the Thalmor. Cloud Ruler Temple, the former base of the Blades and now an affliction to the Imperial city at its feet.

The Dragonborn and his party halted a few feet from the closed gates of Bruma, waiting patiently and silently to be allowed entrance. Myrddin could hear the clanging of metal as the city's guards stared down at the small group, their dragon banners, so similar and yet so different from the Imperial seal, snapping through the harsh wind. There was the distinct sound of wood hitting against wood as arrows were nocked onto bows, peeking through the gaps at the top of the walls.

"By the gods, Myrddin," Delphine ground in a hushed tone behind him, "tell them who you are."

Dovahkiin shook his head, his eyes never wavering from Bruma's ramparts and the arrows that could easily send him and the others to Oblivion. "No," he replied in his characteristically soft tone. "Let them be the first to speak."

Hours seemed to pass as they waited outside the city gates. The wind had picked up violently, forcing most of the county's peasants to retreat into their makeshift homes, that offered little shelter from the bitter cold, and snow began to wisp through the air, clinging tightly to armor and steel. Myrddin's horse stamped its foot impatiently against the frozen ground, and just as he was about to give in and speak, a head, covered by a metal helm, leaned out from the top of the walls. "Who are you," the head called, his accent a thick mixture of Nibenese and Nordic. "What is your business here in Bruma?"

Myrddin raised a gloved hand in greeting and urged his horse to step forward, away from the comforting presence of his bodyguards and friends. "Hail, good sir! I am Myrddin Ysmir, newly crowned High King of Skyrim and Dragonborn. We," he motioned back to his followers, "humbly seek entry into your great city and audience with your lord Count Carvain, just ruler of County Bruma."

The helmeted head disappeared, and a tense silence ensued, the only sounds heard being the whistle of wind and the flapping of banners. Dovahkiin looked back at the Imperial diplomat with wide eyes. "What is going on, Duros?" He asked, attempting to cover the panic that clinched in his stomach.

The Imperial man shook his head, brown eyes locked on the fine points of arrows above, that shone in the sun's light. "I do not know, Your... Myrddin. Perhaps they have not heard that the rebellion in Skyrim has been quelled?"

"Or maybe," Delphine spoke up, her face turned towards the former stronghold of her order, where Thalmor colors flew. "Maybe they do not feel comfortable allowing the leader of a nation, that so recently fought against the Empire, into their city."

Signius Duros sat straighter in his saddle, looking as if he had been slapped, and pointed at the middle aged woman. "That is ridiculous. The Empire has gladly accepted Skyrim back into its fold."

"Apparently they did not know," Faendal mumbled, warily eying the walls.

Dovahkiin prayed that the Bosmer was wrong and turned quickly away with a relieved sigh as the creaking of doors echoed across the icy field. He reined his mare forward at a strategically delicate pace, pausing just before the cities opened gates. A man, wearing a familiar helm, bowed low from within the threshold and stepped forward. "My sincere apologies for the rather cold welcome, Your Highness," the man spoke, his head lowered respectfully. "We did not recognize your colors and... there have been many raids by brigands as of late. Can't be too careful who is allowed within the city."

Myrddin looked back at the peasants who lived unprotected outside the walls. "Yes," he replied with a grimace. "I'm sure they would agree with you."

The guard's mouth opened and closed in a manner similar to that of a fish when plucked from water. "Ah..." The guard cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Count Carvain bids you a warm welcome to Bruma, Your Grace. I am the Captain of the Guard Brandr, and it would be my honor to guide you and your party to the castle, where the Count awaits your audience."

The Dragonborn nodded his assent, directing his horse to follow after the man, and as he passed through the city's towering gates, his eyes fell upon a pedestal that stood empty before the arches of the county's great chapel, stone crumbled at its base and the blank eyes of a long severed head gazing up at him knowingly.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes:<strong> Well, maybe the chapter's a bit better now. I don't know, but then again, I'm never sure.

I hope you all enjoyed the beginning of the chapter with good, ol' insane Pelinal Whitestrake. This scene and others in the future are important because they show the connection between the past and Dovahkiin. They also bring some action into the story, and like I've said before, Myrddin won't be seeing violence for a while.

Could you tell what ruins Myrddin was staring at at the end of this chapter? Just try to remember what Bruma's chapel was dedicated to during Oblivion. Implied Thalmor influence? You better believe it.

Next chapter we will see more of Bruma, some Medieval politics, and a character you might not have expected...

**Dragon Word of the Day: zeymah-** means "brother and brothers," ignoring the typical rules that go with making nouns plural. What's interesting is that the word **mah **in the dragon language is the verb "to fall."

So, please review and tell what you are thinking. Like, dislike, have questions. I reply to all.

Thank you for reading. I'm going to go sleep now.

Gufetto


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